Twilight
by KT the Shimmer Skank
Summary: It's the color of the sky between night and day. A time between old and new. A period of transition. Kind of like high school... Miranda's story. Complete.
1. Underappreciated

**--Twilight--**

Rating: PG-13 for drug references, alcohol use, and some language

Disclaimer: I do not own Lizzie McGuire. Though I do so hope to own a Lizzie McGuire box set! Hah.

Author's Note: Miranda-centric and based on several months of planning and contemplation. I have worked oh so hard on this, I can't even tell you. I hope it is enjoyed. Reviews are muchos appreciated. Kisses.

o o o o o o o

She liked poetry and older boys and rallying against the evils of the Republican party. I liked shopping and Josh Hartnett and rallying against the evils of algebra homework. While I was still stuck on Christina Aguilera and strawberry lip gloss, she was collecting Joni Mitchell on vinyl and getting her first tattoo. She smoked cigarettes, drank black coffee, didn't eat meat. She wholly embodied the phrase "elitist bitch." We were living on two separate planets, and I never expected my relationship with her to go any further than the single occasion when I'd begged her to let me use her punch bowl for my first boy/girl party.

But then high school came. Everything changed, all bets were off.

It wasn't her fault, though. People liked to say that the reason I changed was that she was a bad influence on me. That I fell in with the wrong crowd, that I was just an innocent victim of peer pressure. But those people were wrong. I don't exactly know myself how it all happened, but I know that it wasn't any one person's fault. I mean, that's life. Sometimes it throws people together, sometimes it tears them apart. We were all just caught up in its current.

It was a Thursday, seventh period, in the second week of my freshman year of high school, and I was dying a slow, painful death. The air conditioner in our classroom was broken, and I was struggling to breathe in the thick late August heat. Beads of sweat rolled lethargically down my neck and into the folds of my black t-shirt. My chin was resting on my arms and I fought to keep my eyes open as my English teacher Mrs. Fauxman crept through her lecture in a mind-numbingly dull monotone. She may as well have been speaking German, because I didn't hear a word she said. School had only just gone back in session, and already I was accustomed to the exhausting routine and counting down the days until summer vacation. My eyes continually flicked towards the black and white clock on the wall, desperate for the hands to move to 3:15. I was buried in a lukewarm hazy tedium. My head was ready to explode.

A sudden giggle from the back corner of the room caught my attention. I looked back and saw Lizzie facing the desk behind her. She and another girl were laughing quietly as they scribbled notes to each other with neon gel pens. I recognized the other girl's face, having seen her in class for two weeks, but her name was a mystery. I had never spoken so much as two words to her before, and somehow she had managed to become incredibly good friends with Lizzie. Everyone seemed to want to be friends with Lizzie lately. That was a little difficult for me to comprehend, as I wasn't used to sharing her with anyone other than Gordo.

I didn't feel like looking at Lizzie and her nameless friend any longer. I turned my head and on the other side of the room I noted Eli Saxon, fast asleep. This kid was a walking definition of creepy. You could never really pinpoint what it was that made him so bizzarre, though. The only any evidence anyone really had was the day he'd eaten his shoes back in seventh grade. He wandered the halls in his own little world, popping Starburst like speed and occasionally bothering people with off-beat comments. I wrinkled my nose as I watched him, his mouth hanging wide open and releasing a steady stream of drool onto the desk. Buried within in his monstrous tangled mass of sandy brown hair was a pair of headphones. Vaguely, I could hear the drums and bassline of the music. I laughed silently at the sight, and wondered if there was anyone who was actually paying even the slightest attention to Fauxman's lesson.

A hand shot up in the desk in front of me. "Mrs. Fauxman, I completely disagree," said the nasally, ever-obnoxious voice of Parker McKenzie. I loathed that voice with the fire of a thousand suns. She had such a dull, arrogant tone that made you think she was perpetually bored and unimpressed with the world around her.

Mrs. Fauxman exhaled with tired impatience, as if maybe she'd been hoping that no one really cared enough to make her _think _about the lesson she was teaching. Heaven forbid. "Disagree with what, Miss..." She paused for a moment and racked her brain. Finally she gave up and peered down at her roll for the answer. "...McKenzie?"

"With all of it. I think Schuller's completely wrong about human nature and this story is a crock of... well, it's a blemish on humanity to say the least."

"Well, dear, that's a very interesting observation," the teacher replied in carefully calculated syllables, though the drowsy glaze over her eyes suggested that there was nothing interesting about it at all. "But whether or not you agree with the author's theme isn't what we're focusing on here. We're simply examining the use of allegory and symbolism." This seemed to settle the matter as far as Fauxman was concerned, and she looked like she was about to pick up the lesson again. But Parker cut her off.

"Yes, but my point is, we shouldn't even be reading this story to begin with. It's a piece of Nazi, white-power propaganda and I think it's ridiculous that we're being forced to read this in a public school."

Mrs. Fauxman just kind of stared at her with an expression stuck somewhere between stunned and exhausted. It was a look that asked, "Why are you even bothering to argue?" I was wondering the same thing myself. What did it matter what they made us read? How was this possibly worth arguing over? What was she trying to prove? Who was she trying to impress? All I could think of was how insanely hot it was, and how long the minutes seemed to be stretching out, and how someone could possibly have the energy at this point to care, let alone argue.

"Well, I'm sorry, Miss McKenzie, but the curriculum isn't up for debate. You can take your views to the principle, if you wish."

Mrs. Fauxman continued the lecture. Parker sighed in defeat and rather angrily flipped her hair to one side. I had a sneaking suspicion that she might have actually kept at it, but it was, after all, too damn hot to bother.

Her bare neck was now visible directly in front of me, as well as patches of back and shoulder that her tank top revealed. I noticed that not only was this the first time I'd ever seen Parker wear anything as risque as a tank top, but at the base of her neck, just slightly to the left, was the most remarkable thing. I was a little bit skeptical, but I could have sworn it was... a _tattoo._ I squinted my eyes and examined it more closely. Sure enough, glittering with beads of sweat, there was a decorative purple moon etched into her skin. My imagination began to race as I wonder how in the world someone as uptight as Parker McKenzie had ever gotten a tattoo.

I was so intrigued by the interesting addition to Parker's neck that I hardly noticed time finally catching up to me. The bell rang it's tone of sweet release and I immediately jumped up to start packing away my books. In my hurry, I knocked my khaki messenger bag over, emptying the contents all over the floor beneath my desk. I growled in frustration; it was just too hot for this to happen at the end of my day. I dropped reluctantly to my knees with a tired sigh and began tossing things back into the bag as everyone else around me hurried towards the door. I looked up and saw Lizzie with Nameless Girl, waiting with anxious impatience on their faces. Nameless turned to Lizzie with a disappointed look on her face.

"We'd better hurry," she said, trying to pretend like I couldn't hear her. "We don't want to show up late for warm-ups."

Lizzie bit her lip and looked over at me, the dirk on the floor picking up her spilled bag. "Miranda, we have to go. Is that okay?"

"Sure," I replied, in my most supportive-best-friend voice, although they were already out the door before I even opened my mouth.

By the time I finished getting my things back in order, the room was empty except for Mrs. Fauxman, writing tomorrow's assignment on the board, and Parker, who was flicking Eli's ear to wake him up. He shook awake rather uneasily and looked around the room in a daze. With an unreasonably heavy sigh, I lifted my bag and slung it over my shoulder.

"Ouch, Sanchez," Parker said to me as she waited for Eli to pack up his stuff. "Burn much?"

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever, Parker."

Eli was finished, and now he, too, was looking at me with an unnerving curiosity. "Must suck now that Lizzie's Miss Popular."

"She has cheerleading try-outs," I snapped, while wondering to myself why I was bothering to be so defensive. "If she's late they count off on her scores."

Parker and Eli exchanged a knowing glance before breaking out into laughter and walking towards the door. I tried not to let it show but even I realized how lame it sounded when it was put that way: Lizzie had ditched me for the sake of cheerleading. I hoped I wasn't blushing.

"Are you coming over today?" Eli asked her as they were leaving.

Parker shrugged. "I don't know. My mom wants me to clean my room or something. Which is stupid, when you think about it, because my room is immaculate compared to Maddy's, and I haven't seen Mom nagging _her _about cleaning..." They were now deeply engaged in their own issues, and had forgotten all about their brief encounter with me. I almost would have rather stayed there and argued with Parker than be left alone. I tucked a small chunk of black hair behind my ear and sighed again as I left the room.

The commons area was tightly packed with circles of friends chatting excitedly, all in high spirits now that the school day was over. I looked around for a familiar face, but most of them were unknown to me. Our high school contained all the students who'd come from three middle schools other than my own. It was enormous and over-crowded and intimidating.

"Gordo!" I called across the commons to my shaggy-headed friend. He look slightly misplaced in the circle of boys he was standing with. They were all tall, bulky guys with calculated "flippy hair," dressed in khaki and Polo and pooka shells. Gordo, in contrast, was short and thin and wearing his too-small thrift store t-shirt. He wasn't really saying anything, but he smiled and laughed politely as they conversed.

He turned to me and smiled. "Hey, Miranda," he said. No one else in the circle even acknowledged me.

"Are you riding the bus?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Actually, I was thinking I'd stick around and watch the cheerleading try-outs."

Three months earlier, those words couldn't have been anything other than sarcastic coming out of Gordo's mouth. Three months earlier, he would have been making fun of these guys from a distance, not hanging out with them and laughing at their jokes. Three months earlier... well, three months earlier we were living in a completely different universe.

"Oh." I dropped my eyes and tugged nervously on the strap of my messenger bag.

He gave me a look. "You're not going?"

I hadn't really thought about it. The idea sounded about as appealing as having my teeth pulled, but then again, if I was a good friend I would have been there for moral support. "I... I don't think I can. I didn't tell my mom about it, and she'll probably freak if I'm not home on time."

Gordo nodded, but in a way that was doubtful rather than understanding. "All right then. Lizzie's probably going to be disappointed if you're not there, though."

"I doubt it," I muttered lowly.

He raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"Nothing. I'm sorry. Tell Lizzie I'm really, really sorry. I'd better go before I miss my bus."

We waved goodbye to each other and I left the loud, crowded commons.

The busride was long. I had no one to sit with. There were people I recognized, of course, but none of them I knew any better than acquaintances. None I truly cared to know as anything more than acquaintances. I pressed my forehead against the warm glass window and watched the quaint, colorful suburban houses as they flew by. I pictured Gordo in my head, next to Ethan Craft and Thomas Conner and all the other jock studs, grinning and cheering as Lizzie stepped up to do her routine.

Cheerleading had been an itch in Lizzie since... I don't know, forever. She was a cheerleader for Halloween from the ages of four to seven. The rest of the year she would dress up in her sparkly costume and watch football with her dad, jumping up and down in front of the TV with her little pink poms. Later, she learned to be more discreet. But the itch was still there, no matter how hard she tried to play it cool. Even after seventh grade, where she had faced utter rejection and humilation and sworn off cheerleading for good, she still had that look in her eyes. She wanted to pretend like she didn't care, but she did. She tried rhythmic gymnastics in seventh grade, joined the pep club in eighth. Just so she could have the next best thing. Knowing all this, I shouldn't have been too surprised when she decided to try out for the high school squad, especially since she'd started hanging out with Kate again. In fact, I should have been happy that she was going for something she wanted. It wasn't really even that big a deal. So I had to wonder, as I got off the bus and marched into my house, why it was bothering me so much.


	2. Mi Reflejo

_FYI: The chapter titles are Christina Aguilera songs_

o o o o o o o

The next morning I stood in front of my mirror, donning a cheerful red skirt and British flag tee, staring at myself with a frown. I lifted my hand and ran my fingers through what remained of my black mane of hair. It was gone, all of it. It was uneven all around, and even though it had grown out some over the summer, the longest pieces still only reached to my chin. I tried using gel and clips to give it a cute flippy look, but it didn't work very well. Even after all the countless hours I'd spent staring at my reflection, I still wasn't used to it. Even in last year's clothes, I still didn't look like me. Every time I touched or saw my hair I was reminded of Mexico, and thinking of those days made me sick to my stomach.

I was bored. It seems like a lame excuse, and I guess it kinda is. But that's the truth of it. I was bored, and I was restless, and I was lonely. Mexico City is exactly 1,916 miles from Hillridge, California. It's not that far away, not in comparison to the whole world. But for me, one thousand nine hundred and sixteen miles was the world. It was the space between before and after. It was the gap between everything I knew, and everything I would have to learn. One thousand, nine hundred and sixteen miles was the exact distance nessecary for everything in my life to fall apart.

Two months is a long time. Eight weeks. Fifty-six days. One thousand, nine hundred and sixteen miles away. It didn't take long for the joy of missing a month's worth of school and the excitement of being in an exotic place to wear off. The enormous distance between me and what I called home started to catch up with me, and the unbearable loneliness settled in. I felt like I was surrounded by strangers all the time. My relatives barely spoke any English, I barely spoke any Spanish, and it didn't take long for that language barrier to keep me isolated from most of what was going on. Admittedly, when all of it was over I knew Spanish a hell of alot better than I had before. But that didn't make it any less frustrating. There was no one to talk to, nowhere to go. I couldn't even call home. Eventually I just started slipping into myself. I just stopped paying attention to the world around me, and was left with nothing but my thoughts.

Hiding from it all was surprisingly hard to do, however, because my presence was constantly required in making preparations for my quinceanera. This was supposed to be, at least from the perspective of my heritage, the most important time in my life. It was about becoming a woman. As soon as I was a week deep into the colossal undertaking which is a Mexican girl's quinceanera, I quickly realized that if it was going to take that much work, I had no interest whatsoever in becoming a woman. I grew sick of sweet-talking with relatives and deciding who would buy what, what colors would go where, what napkins would match what flowers. Standing there for hours while my Aunt Celeste sewed my dress around me. I could have simply decided not to have a quincenera. I could have put off the celebration of my fifteenth birthday until we got home, at which point I could have had a party with my friends. But no, I'd opted to celebrate while in Mexico, and let my relatives spoil me. It's funny how quickly getting spoiled gets old.

There was only one who was there for me. Lola, my only friend for one thousand nine hundred and sixteen miles. Lola was the name of the antique acoustic guitar my Uncle Miguel gave to me. He understood the least English of any of them, and I think the guitar was his way of making up for that. He tried teaching me a few chords, but again the language issue got in the way, and I found it too frustrating to learn from him. Instead I retreated to the roof, where I would linger for hours as I tried to teach myself by ear.

It's been said that the pollution in Mexico City is so bad that it's the equivalent of smoking two packs of cigarettes a day. That didn't seem like a good enough reason stop me from spending my days on the roof, in the miserable heat, clutching Lola in my hands and counting down the hours. I felt like I was lost. My life was so far away from me it drove me crazy. I stopped pretending to enjoy myself. I was sick of it. I wanted to go to a mall where everyone spoke English and paid for things with American dollars. I wanted to drink smoothies from the Digital Bean and watch a cheesy Ben Affleck movie. I wanted to go home.

I wondered about Lizzie and Gordo all the time. I wondered about the things I was missing. As I sat all by myself with a piece of crap guitar, inhaling the toxic fumes of big-city pollution, my friends were graduating from junior high. Signing yearbooks. Dressing up for the Monte Carlo end-of-the-year dance. Spending a week in Rome. Wasting away their summer vacations on all the stupid-fun things I would have given anything to be a part of. But instead I was there, trapped, one thousand nine hundred and sixteen miles away, crying as I strummed my guitar.

I guess that's why, when my revolting cousin Carlos casually asked me if I'd like to huff paint with him, I actually found myself saying yes.

"Cut it off!" I remember shouting as I sat on the roof of the apartment building, hot sun and smog raining down on me as my head spun ninety miles an hour. I was choking on insane laughter. Everything was funny and beautiful and surreal. I was stoned and stupid. I was a million miles into the sky. "Just cut it off, man. Let's go crazy."

Carlos barely had the capacity to stand up straight, and he, too, was caught up in a fit of laughter. "Are you sure?" he managed to spit out, snapping his scissors in the air dramatically.

"Dude, just DO it!"

He did it. He snipped away at lightning speed, pieces of my sleek hair falling all around my face like black snow. He was sloppy and careless and out of control. He accidently grazed my face a few times with the blades of the scissors, scraping my face up pretty good, but I didn't feel a thing. I just kept laughing and forgetting all the hurt I'd ever felt.

When I came down from the roof later that day, all hell broke loose. I was bleeding, hairless, stoned senseless, and all on _the day before my quinceanera. _My father was pacing, Carlos' parents were screaming in rapid Spanish, and my mother was crippled by sobs. And I was laughing the whole time. It wasn't until the next day, when I was standing in my frilly white dress, trying to cover the cuts on my face with foundation and ignore the loss of my hair, that I realized the gravity of the situation. I had messed up. Bad.

Three months later I was standing in my room, trying so hard to be the girl I was in eighth grade. It was strange, but it was like I'd killed a few brain cells and suddenly the world around me seemed completely different. With a heavy sigh, I removed my clothes and mussed up my hair with my fingers. There was no point in trying to recreate what was long gone. I settled instead for a black Foo Fighters t-shirt that Gordo had left at my house, a purple plaid skirt, and my miserable haircut.

The phone rang and I answered it, holding it to my ear with my shoulder as I attempted to talk and apply mascara at the same time. "Hello?" I said.

"Be gentle today," Gordo's voice warned on the other end.

It's funny, but when you've known someone since you were four years old, you can somehow know exactly what they're talking about even after they've only said three words. I sighed. "Lizzie's try-out went that bad, huh?"

"No, she did fine, really. She tripped on the way out there..." I'm sure he heard me wince. "But after that she did really well. There were just, you know, alot of girls out there. It's going to be close."

Remembering Lizzie's last cheerleading endeavor, I saw that this could easily turn into an unpleasant situation. "I see what you're saying. Don't you worry, I'll treat your beloved as delicately as a rose." 

"Great. And she's not my beloved. Let's not be gross."

"Right. See you on the bus."

I let the phone fall to the floor as I finished applying my eye make-up. It was at some point in early spring of our eighth grade year that Lizzie and Gordo began to play a game with one another. Call it crush tag, if you will. There were moments when one so unmistakably had a thing for the other; of course, the other one would always be completely oblivious. They switched these roles sporadically, and of course there were times when no one felt anything for anyone. The most essential rule of the game was that no one could ever say what they felt. So not only did Gordo and Lizzie constantly battle to keep their mouths shut, but I, too, wasn't allowed to speak up. I couldn't point out what the two of them were blind to. I couldn't point out that maybe they were meant to be together. I couldn't even point out that maybe they weren't.

I was uneasy when I left for Mexico, because I knew I would be leaving so many things unsaid. One of the many worries buzzing in my head while I was in Mexico was that I would come back to find Lizzie and Gordo madly in love, leaving me out in the cold and ruining our friendship. Or, even worse, I might have found them already fallen out of love and hating each other, leaving me stuck in the middle and ruining our friendship. What I did find when I came back, though, was something I hadn't prepared for. Something that threw me. I didn't know much about what had happened between the two of them in my absence. Rumors flew that they had been dating at one point, but both of them denied this claim. In any case, Gordo and Lizzie, though both very different individuals than when I'd left them, seemed to have just about the same status between each other: hiding and denying. Consequently, I was left more in the dark than either of them.

As soon as I arrived at the bus stop, Lizzie's arm was outstreched bearing a muffin. "Want one?" she offered with a nervous smile. I noticed she had a whole tupperware container full of them tucked under her arm. A few feet away Matt and Melina were eating theirs. I had to do a double take when I saw them; I still couldn't get over the "new Melina" that had taken over. During the summer, Melina had been endowed with a set of perky B-cups, not bad for her frame and age, and if there's anything Kate Sanders has taught us, it's that once you get the boobs, you just have to get all the accessories that go with it. Melina started middle school shimmering with shaved legs, eye-liner, lip gloss, tank tops, cute skirts, and various other things the old Melina would never have even thought about having. The attitude, of course, had been there all along. Standing beside her, Matt looked deflated. And who could blame him? The two of them had always been competing for the spotlight, and at middle school, boobs were a tough act to beat.

I shook my head at Lizzie as I took the muffin from her sweaty palm. "You were that nervous, huh?" I asked. Lizzie only baked when something was nagging at her mind.

She blushed. "I couldn't sleep. So I figured, if I'm awake at four in the morning, I might as well make good use of that time." She tried laughing, but she was so nervous it was kind of shaky. "There's about five dozen more at home."

"Ouch. Bet your mom was really happy about that."

The rumbling block of cheese on wheels appeared and the lump of students on the sidewalk piled inside. Lizzie and I took seats towards the front, while Matt and Melina went a few seats back. Immediately, a small flock of middle schoolers was upon Melina, eager to worship the ground she walked on; it was eerily familiar to the days of evil Kate. Along the ride, more passengers were gathered up, and eventually we reached the slightly wealthier neighborhood, in which we picked up Kate, Gordo, and Ethan. Matt called out to Ethan, wanting to discuss some video game or something, so Ethan went to join him. I noticed Melina's eyes light up and she immediately pounced her attention onto him as he took his seat. Kate and Gordo sat in the seat behind me and Lizzie.

"Are you ready to become a Hill Ridge High School cheerleader?" Kate said with a blissful air, leaning over the squeaky leather seat so that she could smile brightly in Lizzie's face.

Lizzie just blushed. "I'm ready to cheer _you _on when you see your name on the list," she said, brushing her bangs aside.

"Tsk, tsk, McGuire. So little faith. Your try-out was stellar. Not to mention the fact that you're friends with me, and Georgette Skylar _loves _me. You're _it_, Lizzie. They'd be crazy not to take you."

I felt like I was in an alternate universe. Or maybe there was some huge joke that I wasn't in on. Kate was beaming down at Lizzie with the utmost sincerity, complimenting her, and I seemed to be the only one who recognized the irony. No one had really explained to me why Kate was friends with us again. Lizzie and Gordo both seemed to heartily agree that Kate had redeemed herself over the summer, but they never really clarified why. They just said that things had changed after Rome. Apparently many things had changed after Rome, but I was the only one who wasn't with the program. I figured that while I was gone there must have been some kind of seminar, explaining to everyone how things were going to be turned upside down. Someone simply failed to give me the memo.

At school, I trudged carefully behind Lizzie, who was trailing behind a far more confident Kate. Gordo and Ethan walked side by side behind us, deep in conversation as they pretended not to be interested in the cheerleading try-out results. We crossed through the diverse and chatter-filled commons area to the gym doors, on which a pink sheet of paper was taped. Kate stepped boldly forward, skimming the list with slight disinterest, as if she already knew what it said. Lizzie held back, perhaps afraid to know what the pink paper had to say.

"Kate Sanders, freshman lieutenant, of course," Kate said, turning and beaming at us. She noticed Lizzie's reluctance and rolled her eyes. "Oh, slap a smile on already, McGuire. You know you're on the list, too."

Lizzie's face was overtaken with sheer thrill as she gazed at Kate in disbelief. She scurried up the list to check for herself, and when she was convinced that it did in fact say "McGuire, Lizzie," she began jumping up and down and squealing in typical girl fashion. She turned to me, Gordo, and even Ethan in turn and gave us that "OMG can you believe it?" look, before finally smiling at Kate with a shared joy. The two of them squealed together and hugged ecstaticly, and I felt something of a pang. Again I had to ask myself, what the hell was going on with the world? Who was this blonde clone in Kate Sanders' arms, and where was my best friend? Gordo and Ethan didn't seem to find this moment of affection between former foes even the slightest bit odd as they congratulated the two of them.

The cheering stopped when two upperclassmen girls burst through the gym doors and took hold of Kate and Lizzie, clamping their hands tightly over their captives' mouths. I stood with my mouth hanging open in utter bewilderment.

"Don't say a word, freshman!" barked the tall red-head that had hold of Kate. "You come with us now, or face unspeakable doom." She looked over at us and eyed us evilly. "None of you will speak of this. Understand, freshman scum?"

She gave us no time to answer before she and her friend wisked Kate and Lizzie away into the gym from which they'd come.

"Wait, what?" I asked fearfully, watching them leave in disbelief.

Ethan laughed slightly. "Don't worry about them," he said. "They'll be aight. It's just some initial... intution..." His brow furled as he struggled with the word.

"Initiation?" Gordo offered.

"Right, initiation. The senior girls kidnap the new cheerleaders and make them eat pancakes and stuff." Slowly, Gordo and I nodded in understanding, though we were both still a little startled. "Hey Gor-DON, let's go see what Thomas and the guys are up to."

Gordo shrugged and nodded. "Sure." He looked at me. "Uh, Miranda?"

On the one hand, I could go join a circle of hot popular boys that never would have given me the time of day in middle school. On the other, I could stay by myself and look like a friendless loser. Don't ask me why I chose the latter; I guess something in me just couldn't be a part of the unreal hypocrisy of Gordo discussing The OC with Thomas Conner. I found myself refusing the offer, claiming I had to study for an English quiz.

There actually was a quiz in English that day, and a homework assignment I hadn't done in math, but as I sat all alone in the library, I didn't bother with either of them. I instead drowned out the world with my iPod, flipped idly through a copy of Seventeen, and wondered how long this weirdness could possibly linger.


	3. Come On Over

_FYI: The character Vince, you may remember, appeared in the episodes "Night of the Day of the Dead" and "Come Fly With Me."_

o o o o o o o

The air conditioner in Fauxman's class was still broken, but rather than make us suffer for the entire fifty minutes, she took us outside to the courtyard and let us have class there. She kept her lecture brief, for it wasn't too much better outdoors than it was in the sweltering classroom, then let us spread out armed with copies of Huckleberry Finn to get a head start on our weekend reading assignment. As one could expect from a class of high school freshmen left to their own devices, no one was really reading. I hummed Foo Fighters tunes absent-mindedly as I decorated my fingernails with a black Sharpie to pass the time. Around me, my classmates were all engaged in equally pointless activities, sharing the latest gossip, eating the remains of their lunches, and defacing the blue plastic picnic tables with pens. Mrs. Fauxman didn't seem to care; she was busy sipping a Diet Coke as she marked papers with a pink highlighter. The buzz according to the upperclassmen was that Fauxman was one of the hardest teachers on campus, but in the midst of her pregnancy, she'd grown pretty lax. I saw this as a good thing, as I didn't think that English class could possibly be any more unbearable.

I noticed that Nameless Girl looked rather lonely without Lizzie there to giggle with her. I thought briefly of striking up a conversation, perhaps get to know her better, seeing as we had a mutual friend. But then it occured to me that I didn't give much of a damn about Nameless, and for all I cared she could sit there and rot.

The unmistakable dull roar of bass and drums of Eli Saxon's headphones could be heard nearby. Parker McKenzie sat against one of the trees, deeply interested in Huckleberry Finn, while Eli hovered over her with impatience. The change in his pockets jangled rhythmically as he bounced from side to side, begging Parker to entertain him.

"Eli, buzz off," she said with her usual callousness. "I'm reading."

"Christ, Parks, what do you think this is? English class?" he whined, kicking the roots of the tree in defeat. He turned his head slightly and caught me watching them. I quickly went back to my nail-decorating, but he had already spotted me.

"Mimi!" he cried, greeting me as if I was an old friend as he slid next to me at the picnic table.

"Uh, it's Miranda," I said, taking note of the fact that he was way too close to me. He smelled like fruity candy and pot (a scent I found easy to recognize after having spent so much time around Carlos.)

"Right, sure. Listen. I heard from a friend of a friend that you're a singer. Am I right?"

I couldn't help but notice he was still wearing his headphones. When he was that close to me, I could even distinguish the melody: it was "Foxy Lady." I wondered if he could even hear anything I said. I nodded uncertainly. "Well, um, I'm in chorus."

It didn't seem like he'd registered any of what I'd said, but he nodded and smiled all the same. "Well, hey, that's swell because my band is actually looking for a lead singer. Think you'd like to come jam with us tonight?"

"Um... well... that might be cool..." No sudden movements, Miranda, I thought to myself. Just play along and maybe he'll go away.

"Hip, very hip!" To my horror and confusion, he snatched the Sharpie from me and wrote an address on my hand in barely-legible writing. "Just show up here at seven tonight and we'll have a swingin' time I'm sure." He smiled in an almost frightening kind of way and gave me a kid-punch to the chin before walking away to continue bugging Parker. I watched them for a moment, fighting in a weary but playful best-friend-ish way, before sighing and continuing with my artwork.

"Nice fingers," Gordo commented as he met me at the bus. By the time sixth period had ended, my nails were completely blackened, and I had begun drawing horizontal black stripes around each of my fingers. "And um, that's my shirt, isn't it?"

"Yeah," I said. We took our seats, and a few seconds later Ethan Craft had slipped into the seat in front of us.

"Yo, Gor-DON," he said, leaning over the back of the seat and looking at the two of us. "I'm still kicking it at your place tonight, right?"

"That's the plan."

"Sweet." Expectedly, only a few seconds later, people from other corners began calling for Ethan. The guy was a wanted man. He waved goodbye and scurried off to say hey to the people that were calling his name, among them the ever-flirtateous Melina. When he was gone, I took this opportunity to give Gordo a hellacious stare down.

"What?" he said, when he'd had enough.

"Ethan's coming over to your HOUSE? Doesn't this strike you as just the slightest bit... I don't know, Twilight Zone?"

Gordo shrugged. "Last year, maybe. But Ethan and I have been hanging out alot lately. We roomed together in Rome, you know. He's an all right guy, actually. Just as much of an idiot as ever, but he's all right. He's actually a pretty decent Dwarflord player..."

I sighed and stared out the window, watching the flying streets shimmer in the late-summer sun. "Well that's great, Gordo. Really. I'm so glad everyone made all these new friends over the summer while I was MIA. It's terrific."

Gordo gave me a sympathetic look, which surprised me somewhat. Gordo's not generally one to bother with pity. He's sort of devoid of any emotional sensitivity. "Don't exaggerate. Ethan's not really new, you know. Need I remind you of you and Lizzie's nonstop obsession with him during the entirity of middle school?"

I shrugged, trying my hardest not to let Gordo cheer me up. "No, I know, I know. And I'm glad you're finally warming up to him. Ethan's great."

Gordo's brow furled in that familiar, 'I don't speak Girl' kind of way. "Then what's the problem?"

What _was_ the problem? How could I possibly feel threatened by Ethan Craft? "Nothing. Nothing's wrong. Sheesh."

Gordo nodded and the conversation moved along without a blink. Now, clearly, you can see just how bad Gordo really is at Girl. Because I mean, anyone knows that "Nothing" always means "Something's terribly wrong but I don't know what, please ask more questions and figure it out for me and make me feel better." Poor Gordo. He's kind of hopeless.

When the bus reached his stop, Gordo invited me over, and because I knew I wouldn't be seeing my other best friend any time tonight, I accepted. The remainder of the busride was lonely as always, and to pass the time I drowned out the noise of the bus with my headphones. It was _Stripped_, Christina's most recent album, which I had to admit to myself was kind of lousy. But with pipes like hers, you could get away with mediochre music. It was interesting how bizarre the things around me looked when there was theme music covering them up. It was kind of nice to put the world on mute. I was suddenly reminded of Eli Saxon, because when you thought about it, this was how he viewed the world all the time: constantly drowning in music. I bit my lip wistfully as I peered at the address written on my hand. God, that kid was weird. And he was friends with Parker, who was even weirder. I wasn't entirely sure it was worth it to risk my safety to try and be in some band of his.

At home, my mother greeted me with a reassuring smile and her usual, "You made it home okay?" As if for some reason, something might go horribly wrong and the answer to that obvious question would be different. We spoke minimal words to each other, and I spent only enough time in the same room with her to grab a lemon pudding cup from the fridge. Then it was off to my room to avoid all possible contact with my parents for the rest of the evening. Over the past few weeks this huge distance had started growing between us. I guess after being crammed together for two months in Mexico, we were sick of each other. It also forced us to realize how little we know about each other, and how completely hopeless it is for us to try and communicate. But I mean, two old people and a teenage girl? I can't believe we didn't come to that little revelation sooner.

A few hours later I came back downstairs armed with CDs, my toothbrush, a change of clothes, and Lola. I came into the living room, where my parents were watching Dr. Phil. I placed a kiss on each of their foreheads and announced that I was staying at Gordo's for the night, knowing I wouldn't be missed. My father waved me on absent-mindedly, not taking his eyes of the television. I'd made it almost to the door when my mom scurried after me, her eyes looking a bit nervous.

"I don't think staying at Gordo's is such a good idea, baby," she said, licking her hand and smoothing my frazzled hair. "Why don't you just stay home tonight?" It took only a moment for her to reconsider those words; have me stick around with them all night? Not such a great idea. "Or better yet, give Lizzie a call. You two haven't had a sleepover since we got back."

_Gee, thanks for the update on my social life, Mom_, I thought to myself. I sighed and shifted the straps of my bag. "Lizzie's busy tonight. And why would you let me go to her house and not Gordo's? Am I in trouble?"

My mother sighed. "No, no, you're not in trouble. I just think you're getting a little too old to stay the night at a boy's house. I should have put a stop to this back when you started middle school." 

I couldn't help but let a slight chuckle escape my lips. "Are you kidding me? It's _Gordo._ I'll see you tomorrow, Mom."

"Miranda Isabella, I'm trying to be serious!" There was a forcefulness in my mother's voice that was somewhat foreign to me. I was so shaken I let go of the door knob and felt myself cower slightly. "You're not staying the night at Gordo's house. That's the way it has to be." 

"All right, all right, fine. Can I at least hang out for a little while? I don't have to be stuck home all night, do I?"

My mother paused for a moment. "No, that's fine. I'll drive you." 

"Aw, don't worry about it, Mom, I can ride my bike..."

Her voice rose again slightly. "No. I'll drive you."

I didn't feel like risking any further arguement, so I let her drive me to Gordo's house. She said she'd be back for me at nine. I noticed that she didn't drive away until Gordo had come to the door and let me in. I sighed as I watched her ease out of the driveway. I was heartbreakingly reminded of the line I'd crossed over the summer when I decided to get high with my cousin. I _knew _what I did was wrong. I _knew _what the consequences were. I had learned my lesson. I thought that was enough to make things right again, but it was like none of that even mattered. I couldn't take back what I did, and I might never gain back what I lost: trust. My mother didn't trust me anymore. What did she think I would do, lie and say I was going to Gordo's and then head straight for the city to buy crack? I mean, it's true I've pulled stunts before... sneaking into an R-rated movie, cheating on an English paper, lying to go to Kate's birthday party... come to think of it, I've been lying to my parents since I had baby teeth. But all that was pretty innocent stuff. Over the years I'd grown used to my parents' unfaltering forgiveness and lack of supervision over all aspects of my life. But this summer I'd really gone too far. They may have still acted cool on the surface, but I was slowly realizing that getting back into their good graces wouldn't be as easy as it was in middle school.

"What's that?" Gordo asked me as he ushered me into his house.

I looked down at the sticker-bedecked guitar case in my hand and smiled. "Oh, that's right. You haven't met Lola yet..."

Gordo and Ethan had already ordered a pizza and, much to my horror, were deeply engrossed in a game of Dwarflord. I turned off the Old Blue Eyes CD they were listening to and situated myself on the couch, giving Gordo a sample of what Lola and I could do. The night wore on that way, me strumming mindlessly through the entire repetoire of songs I knew, breaking occasionally for pizza, and trying to strike up conversation with a pair of boys who were so into their game they couldn't have cared less. I wondered why it was always such an exciting mystery to me in middle school, what boys did when they were alone. Well, here was the answer. Childish games, mindless chatter, and junk food. Boys were, in fact, just as dull and idiotic as girls. 

I had just about reached the zenith of boredom, not to mention having eaten the last slice of pizza, when seven o'clock rolled around and I gazed at the address on my hand with uncertainty. It was now or never.

"Gordo," I asked, holding my out to him. "This house isn't far from here, right?"

To ease the curiosity on his and Ethan's face, I explained to them my strange encounter with Eli Saxon, and the dilemma I faced on whether or not to go. For whatever reason, the two of them were interested, and offered to tag along with me. A few minutes later we had traveled a few blocks away to Eli Saxon's house, which I have to say, was not what I expected. You'd think a guy who never brushed his hair and wore the same t-shirt three days in a row would not be the most economically gifted one of the bunch. But Eli's house was just as glamorous and impressive as the other homes in this neighborhood. Ethan claimed that his mom was some kind of professional songwriter or something.

We knocked on the door and were greeted, to our surprise, by Parker McKenzie, dressed comfortably in Soffe shorts and bare feet, eating from a plate of carrots and ranch dressing. She glanced us over with her typical bored expression, and I had the unsettling feeling we'd come to the wrong house.

"Oh, right, the thing," she said, munching on a carrot. "They're down in the basement. Follow me."

And so we were led through the ecclectic and bizarre Saxon household. The basement was plastered with posters of Jimi Hendrix, The Grateful Dead, Pink Floyd, Bob Marley, local bands I'd never even heard of, and for some odd reason, one of Britney Spears as well. Eli was sprawled across a pink plastic lawn chair, strumming his guitar idly and blabbering on about some nonsense. His companions were a chubby red-headed boy and an obscenely tall, lanky blonde with hair past her hips. The girl was seated on the fat boy's lap behind a set of drums, and they were far too busy making out to listen to a word Eli was saying. Eli, however, hardly seemed to notice or care.

"Great news, kids," Parker announced in monotone sarcasm. She walked across the room and plopped down on a bright green couch, where she continued to eat her carrots and dip. "Sanchez and her posse have graced our presence. No applause, please."

The three band members turned their attention to me, staring at me like I had chimpanzees crawling out of my nose. I can honestly say I'd never felt more awkward than when I stood there in Eli Saxon's basement, Gordo and Ethan hiding behind me ever so slyly, while the three weirdest-looking kids in the world stared blankly back at me. "Um, hi," I said in my softest tone, giving a weak wave.

Ethan, being endlessly clueless as well as confident, raised his hand gangsta style and grinned brightly. "What's up, guys?" he greeted.

The three of them only continued to stare, and I thought surely I'd done something wrong, and this was God's awful punishment.

"Who the hell are these kids?" droned the long-haired blonde, at last breaking the ice.

Eli gazed cluelessly for a moment before comprehension at last dawned upon his face. "Oh! Right! Mimi, baby, how's it going?" he said. He set down his guitar and walked over to me, throwing his arms around me in a big hug. I was horrified. "Guys, this is Mimi, our new bass player. Mimi, this is Vince, he's a year above us, and that's his girlfriend Mosey. Welcome to the band."

Vince and Mosey didn't look happy to see me at all. "It's uh, Miranda, actually." I gave them a forced smile before turning to Eli and muttering, "Um, I thought I was here because you needed a singer."

"Oh, yeah. Well we did. But that was before Vince here brought Mosey along. Isn't that right, Mosey baby?" Mosey stared emotionlessly at him with her heavily black-lined eyes, mouth hanging slightly open. "'Course it is. Right on." He turned to me. "But hey, you can play bass, right?"

Beside me, Gordo began chuckling. I quickly silenced him by punching him in the shoulder, and then turned back to Eli, completely bewildered. "Um, no?"

Eli shrugged and patted me on the shoulder, as if the minor detail that I'd never so much as touched a bass guitar was no big deal. "Eh, don't worry about it. We'll get you rolling on it. I'm pretty sure we've got one lying around here somewhere if you want to give it a go... You're ambidexterous, right? I think our bass is a lefty, to be honest..."

I stared blanky at him, trying to keep my cool as this situation gradually got creepier and creepier. I could sense Gordo beside me trying his hardest to hold in his laughter. Ethan had wandered over to the couch with Parker, and was stealing her carrots as the two of them watched all this like a TV show. The two older kids groping each other behind the drumset continued to gawk at me. And worst of all, Eli Saxon's sticky Starburst fingers were on my shoulder while he talked about these things he mysteriously knew about me.

I looked down at my watch, which was stupid, actually, because I wasn't wearing a watch. "Ah, crap, my mom's coming to pick me up soon. And by coming I mean coming to Gordo's house. So we'd better go. Now."

Mosey laughed, which sounded funny because when she laughed it sounded deep and throaty but came entirely from her nose. "Isn't it like... 7:30? How _old _are you?" Her boyfriend laughed loudly along with her.

"Eleven, actually," I said, finding myself quickly moving into a panic. Awkward situations were not my strong point, and once they got rolling, it was only a quickly-moving downward slope from there. "Eleven years old. Nearly my bed time. Come on, boys, time to ski-daddle." Ski-daddle? Dad's god-awful catch phrases sure did have a way of sneaking up at the most inopportune times.

"Huh?" said Ethan, mouthful of carrots. Gordo just laughed.

"We're leaving. NOW."

Amidst Mosey and Vince's laughter, Eli's jarbled pleas for me to stay, Gordo and Ethan's confusion/amusement, and Parker's ambiguously probing stare, I managed to shove my two companions to the door and let myself out of the Saxon residence, escaping their clutches in an embarassing panic.

The walk home was long and uncomfortable. Gordo rattled on about the whole experience, finding our brief encounter with the Weird Kids to be the most hilarious thing ever; Ethan laughed along at Gordo's wit. I stayed quiet. The suffocating summer air hit my face and mixed with the lingering sensation of awkward. I found it kind of hard to breathe.


	4. The Way You Talk To Me

_FYI: Gelato is the second-most wonderful substance on earth. (Pizza is first, of course)._

o o o o o o

When Monday came I overslept and missed the bus, and was forced to sit through an awkward ten-minute car ride with my mother. I squirmed in perpetual discomfort as I felt her maternal eyes constantly checking me over. She commented lightly that my eye-make up looked darker than usual. I shrugged and said I hadn't done anything different. We arrived at the school eventually and she blew me a kiss as I climbed out of the car. I pretended not to see, and walked away from the car as quickly as I could.

A sense of dread began to crawl down my skin as I entered the building, a sensation that was becoming far too familiar. There were just so many people, so many faces and colors and shapes, all packed into an enormous building of judgment. I couldn't help but feel a little uncertain of myself. I glanced around for Gordo and Lizzie, but couldn't spot them anywhere. Great. Now I looked like a pathetic little freshman girl, wandering around in search of someone to take her in. How cruel high school be. Something as simple as needing someone to hang out with in the mornings could turn into a do-or-die endeavor of epic proportions.

The pressure was a bit too much for me to handle, and I decided I would just have to duck into the library for another day. I was about to make a dash for the main hall when I heard someone call out my name. A wave of relief passed through me; there wassomeone to rescue me from the dangerous waters of the commons area after all.

As I turned to face the speaker, however, I wasn't so sure this was the person I wanted to be saved by.

"Um, hey, Parker," I said with uncertainty. She was sitting Indian style on the floor by the main hall threshold, amongst a small assortment of hippies and indie kids, many of them sophomores and juniors. Eli, Vince, and Mosey were with her. My cheeks reddened just a little.

"Sit down," she commanded, living in a Parker-centric universe as always. "It's annoying to try and talk to someone when they're hovering over you." Having no real alternative, I sat down my bag and joined the unusal crowd of kids.

Eli peered over at me and grinned. "Mimi my love," he said, holding a red Starburst out to me. I shook my head no to his offer. "You left so quick on Friday. What gives?"

I shrugged and tried not to make eye contact with anyone. "Um, sorry. I didn't really have time to stick around. Besides, I wasn't doing you guys much good anyway."

Eli unwrapped three Starburst and shoved them into his mouth at once. He spoke as he chewed, his mouth a mess of sticky pink and orange. "Oh, come on. You're just being a baby. What's it gonna take for me to get you to play bass in my band?" He reached for his tattered orange backpack and unzipped the front pocket, revealing a trove of colorful candies and assorted snack cakes. It was a wonder this kid didn't have diabetes. "Go on, name your price."

Parker rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Eli, you wrote the BOOK on being an effing retard."

"You shh," he snapped. He looked at me. "You, pick candy."

With the utmost reservation, I reached forward and wrapped my fingers around a lemon Starburst. I sighed and glanced around for a moment. If only I'd gotten my ass out of bed and caught the bus, I would be hanging out with Gordo and Lizzie and the normal kids right now. Instead I was eating warm Starburst with Eli Saxon and his crew of tree-hugging social anomalies. This was a valuable lesson learned in the importance of punctuality.

"Um, look," I said, brushing the uneven hair out of my face and staring at my uneaten Starburst. "This band thing isn't really such a good idea for me. My schedule's really hectic." And by hectic I meant uneventful beyond all reason. "I mean, I've got... chorus. And... and my classes this semester are really hard. I don't want anything to cut into my study time." Hah. What study time? "And besides, I don't even know _how _to play bass."

Eli shrugged. "Who cares? Vince only started playing drums three weeks ago! And according to my mom, you're a natural. She says, and I quote, 'just put an instrument in her hands and she's good to go.' Bass is the easiest instrument ever. All you have to do is pluck a few strings and look cute."

I found myself scooting away from Eli as he spoke. As if the creepy factor couldn't get any more extreme, Eli was now claiming that his mother knew me. Which was insane. "Um, I think you have me confused with someone else. I've never met your mom before."

Eli scratched his pseudo-dreadlock-covered head. "Are you sure you haven't met her? She teaches violin and piano at the Goelig Center. Ms. Newbury?"

I felt my defenses relax just a bit. Okay, so this Eli kid wasn't crazy; I actually did know Ms. Newbury. She gave me violin lessons in the fall of eighth grade. "_That's _your mom?"

"Yeah. Took her maiden name back after she divorced my dad. Some hippie-feminist hullabaloo."

"Oh. Um. Well..." There was really no escaping this. Was there no way to get out of Eli's clutches? Having Parker, Vince, and Mosey eye me with such expectant disdain wasn't really helping. It was then that the bell came to my rescue and signaled the beginning of the school day. I grabbed my bag and stood up as quickly as possible, mumbling a goodbye and diving into the fast-moving stream of high school students.

"Catch you later, Sanchez," Eli called out to me. "You can run, but you can't hide!"

The day which had started out as ungodly as possible only got worse as I bombed a Physcial Science quiz and realized during gym that I'd worn two different socks. Even chorus, usually my favorite class of the day, failed to cheer me up. I left it feeling slightly irritable and dreading what was only moments away: the Cody Pearson Intersection.

Cody Pearson was a shy, introspective, and somewhat unusual boy who I'd never so much as taken a second glance at before he asked me to the Spring Dance towards the end of eighth grade. It turned out that we were beyond perfect for each other, and I wondered if he'd known that beforehand, seeing as we'd never actually spoken, or if it was just a lucky guess on his part. Cody's near-neurotic shyness made things move pretty slowly between us, and by the time we ever really got close enough to make that next step to boyfriendgirlfriend, I was whisked away to Mexico and hadn't spoken to Cody since.

But oh, high school, ever the sadistic villain, had shoved us together again in a sandwich of awkward. We now saw each other everyday in the hall just after third period. I would leave the chorus room just as he was leaving the band room on the opposite side. Face to face, Cody and I, forced to look at one another for a whole six seconds and be poisoned by the memories of our unfinished parting.

I held my breathe, clutching my books in my arms, and strolled out the door for the inevitable. I tried to keep my eyes on the ground, but in the crowded halls of high school, that's kind of like committing suicide. After running into one too many people I finally lifted my head, and when I did, Cody Pearson was a foot in front of me, smiling shyly.

"Miranda," he said.

Wait, what? We were speaking now? Where did this come from? I shifted my weight to my hip and readjusted the books in my arms. "Um, hey Cody," I replied. I instinctively reached up to readjust my hair, but once I touched it I remembered I had the paint-fume-haircut of all hell. I sighed in defeat. "What's um... what's going on?" Because yeah, this wasn't WEIRD AS HELL or anything.

"Nothing. I just got out of band." He toyed with his beaded hemp necklace as he spoke, glancing more at his shoes than at me. "I haven't talked to you in awhile. What's up?"

What's up? How does one respond to that, exactly? I could either give him a one-word answer or my life story, neither of which really appealed to me. I sighed and tried to smile. "Nothing." Yeah, I took the easy way out. The notorious fast-paced mouth of Miranda Sanchez always seemed glued shut when it came to talking to boys.

"Cool." No, it wasn't cool, actually, I realized. "I like your haircut."

I blushed. Was he mocking me? I tucked stray pieces of said hair behind my ear. "Thanks. I like your..." I tried to examine Cody, pick out some subtle detail about him that had changed about him over the summer. He looked like a completely different person, but I couldn't put my finger on why. "Necklace." Oh god, what a girl thing to say.

But he smiled. And that made me smile. "Thanks. So is this your lunch right now?"

"Yeah."

He tugged on his necklace a few times. "You wanna sit with me?"

I tried to ignore the butterflies forming in my stomach as I looked back at him. It was just lunch, after all. With a boy I'd even been on a date with before. "Yeah, sure. Sounds good."

I was unsurprised to learn that Cody hated the loud and crowded cafeteria, and so we carried our bagged lunches all the way to farthest edge of the courtyard, muting the endless lunchtime chatter that neither of us were interested in hearing. We secluded ourselves at a red plastic picnic table that was covered in hundreds of profane and vulgar scribbles; phone numbers to call for "a good time" (one of which was labeled with Parker's name), bitter denunications of God, a crude sketch of a penis. High school kids are so witty.

Away from the buzzing crowds and the hundreds of ever-watching eyes, Cody Pearson seemed to become so much more of himself. I swallowed up the details of him as he came to life, colorfully retelling the story of his summer. There were subtle features that seemed to me to fill-in some of the blank spaces Cody always left with his quietness; black and pink beads weaved into in his necklace, blonde highlights-from-a-box in his hair, black nail polish on the toes exposed by his faux-leather sandals.

He told me about Rome, about gelato and vespas and gorgeous Roman archticture, and conveniently left out all the parts about Lizzie's brush with pop-stardom that I'd gotten so sick of hearing. He told me about the Lifehouse concert he'd seen, and how he'd been so close to the stage he could have reached out and touched the bass-player. I told him (or lied, actually) that I'd been thinking of playing the bass. I found out he liked Hot Hot Heat, a band I'd never even heard of. He also liked Degrassi, Choco-Tacos, and watching his DVDs in French.

I told him about Mexico, leaving out all details of Carlos and the haircut and how god-awful it was and how I cried just about every day... which is pretty much all of Mexico, actually, but Cody didn't seem to catch on to that. I told him about Lola and how much I hated my science teacher and how I felt about _Stripped _and how it was totally weirding me out that Lizzie was on the cheerleading squad with Kate Sanders. I probably told him more than I wanted to but he just smiled and nodded like there was even the slightest possibility he understood.

It felt like the first real conversation I'd had, with anyone at all, since I'd left all those months ago for Mexico City. And who would ruin that for me? She would, of course.

Parker strolled across the courtyard with the utmost purpose, clutching a paperback book and a bottle of Evian and heading straight for our table. She sat down next to Cody without so much as blinking. She smiled slightly and reached forward to stroke his necklace. The way she touched boys so casually and carelessly that blew my mind. "I love this," she said to him. "It's delicious." She tended to give compliments with such a royal air, as if people were so priveleged to have earned her prestigious approval. I could have barfed.

Cody turned six shades of scarlet and said nothing, and I felt a wave of guilt. I had failed to protect fragile Cody from the poisonous presence of Parker McKenzie and I was so pissed at myself for it.

"I'd better go," said Cody. He left his mouth part way open, as if maybe he was trying to think of an actual reason he should go, but nothing ever came. Instead he just stood up and gave a weak wave. "Bye, Miranda. I'll burn you that Hot Hot Heat CD and bring it to lunch tomorrow." He scurried awkwardly back into the building, leaving me after we'd only reuinited for a lousy fifteen minutes.

I turned to Parker in my frustration, who sat as nonchalantly and slightly bored, as always. "Parker," I said through gritted teeth. "You are getting seriously close to pissing me off."

She shrugged as she unscrewed the lid from her water bottle. "I can't imagine why," she said. "Aren't I allowed to be social once in awhile and join my fellow students for lunch?"

"Not when you scared one of them away." I sighed and ran my fingers through my choppy locks in frustration.

Parker raised a snobbish eyebrow and grinned as she took a tiny sip of Evian. "Oh, sorry. Didn't realize I was killing a moment. Now, while I'm tempted to take this opportunity to comment on your terrible taste in boys, I'm going to try and stay on task. I need you to do me an enormous favor and please be in Eli's stupid band."

Oh, god. This again? There was no escape. I put my hands on the table and dropped my chin on top of them. "Oh my god, can't you guys take a hint? I don't play bass, I don't want to be in a band, and to be honest, Eli gives me the creeps. And I'm pretty sure I don't owe _you _any favors."

"True, but let me ask you this: Do you have anything better to do? And now let me answer that: No, you don't. Eli's weird, I know, but he's also fragile, and it would just make his little heart sing if someone humored him and his little project."

I felt my temper, which had gotten me in trouble one too many times before, bubble anxiously under my skin. The fact that _anyone _could be so... so... God she was so arrogant it made my head spin. I narrowed my eyes. "Not. Interested."

She threw back her head and sighed in impatience. "Oh, come on, Sanchez. This doesn't appeal to you in the slightest? You're like, a music genius. I saw you play violin at the governer's banquet last January. It was brilliant. Are you really just so blind to your talent you've never even considered making your own music? You could at least give it a try."

I paused for a moment and observed the dainty brunette in front of me with a certain amount of confusion. How was it that she could be a bitch and then be completely flattering in the same fifteen seconds? She was bewildering and above all exhausting, and the longer I thought about it, the more worn-down it made me feel.

"Fine," I said. I was too weary to do anything but give in. "Whatever. Tell Eli I'm in."

I expected to see some relief or maybe even excitement on Parker's behalf, after all the trouble she'd gone through to sway me, but instead she just nodded expectantly. "Fabulous then. Come sit with us tomorrow morning, we can break the oh-so-joyous news to him together." She glanced down at her expensive silver watch and her eyes widened a bit. "Ah, well, it's about time for my ride to be here. I've got a particularly disgusting gym class next period I'm looking to skip. Ciao, Miranda."

Parker strolled away with just as much self-absorbed grace as she had come to me, presumably to skip class with one of her rumored older boyfriends. It was hard to tell whether I was relieved she was gone or disappointed I now had no one to sit with. I sighed and looked down at the uneaten peanut butter sandwich in front of me. Somehow, it just didn't seem worth picking up. I was now alone again, separated from the rest of my supposed peers, staring at a peanut butter sandwich like the biggest loser in the world. And now I had to be in Eli Saxon's band, too.

But I smiled. Because Cody had said he was bringing a CD for me to lunch tomorrow. Which meant he was going to be eating lunch with me again. Which meant for the first time in awhile, I had a reason to look forward to another day of school.


	5. Nobody Wants To Be Lonely

_FYI: Since they never clarified her age, and are now making a spin-off that clearly ignores chronology, I didn't think it particularly mattered what age I made Miranda's sister. I made her five._

o o o o o o

As I peered across the aisle at the them, sitting side by side in their matching blue uniforms, with their identical blonde ponytails and identical giggles of excitement, it was hard to tell which one was which. They were a matching pair of glistening teen dreams. It was the very first game day of the school year, the very first time Kate and Lizzie were able to show off their crisp, colorful uniforms to the world, and the thrill glimmered unmistakenly in their faces as they chatted anxiously on the busride home. The entire student populus had been filled with a similar energy all day, and I couldn't help but feel a little oblivious. I mean, hello, football? I don't _do _sports. And apparently, in high school, that preference makes you the lowest form of human.

The aisle that separated my seat from Kate and Lizzie's seemed a hundred miles wide and growing. I tried to laugh at their jokes, pretend to be ecstatic about the football game, pretend to know who the hell Charlie Kurasaki was when they giggled about how cute he was, but eventually I got tired of faking, and the strain of leaning over to hear them wasn't worth it any more. When, I wondered, had I gotten so far removed from what was hot and who was who? In middle school I'd been so good at that, working hard to get as close to the top of the junior high hierarchy as possible. Stuff like that had been fun. But in high school, there was just too much to take in. It went right over my head. I slunk back in my seat and tried to pretend like I didn't exist for the next fifteen minutes of my life.

Lizzie and I walked side by side toward our houses when we exited the bus, making it a point to stay a few feet away from Matt and Melina, who were engaged in some kind of argument. Her nonstop chatter continued just as seamlessly as before, as if I were somehow Kate and somehow had any idea what she was talking about. I forced a smile and nodded as she spoke, hoping sooner or later she would say something to make me remember she was Lizzie, my best friend.

"So hey," I said as we grew closer to her house. "You want to come hang out for awhile? My mom bought some of those drop-and-bake M&M cookies. We could make them and watch some TV or something." I wanted it to sound as casual as possible, just a best friend asking another best friend over. I didn't want her to detect my desperation, to know how badly I needed to have her all to myself for just a little while.

Lizzie frowned apologetically. "I don't think I can, actually," she said, shifting the the black and blue cheerleading bag on her shoulder. "I'm supposed to be back at the football field in like an hour to get ready for the game, so I've got to get ready and grab something to eat. But hey, you're coming tonight, right?" She smiled and nodded as she turned towards her house, as if she already knew the answer to the question. After all, anybody who was anybody was going to the football game. I guess Lizzie didn't realize, though, that I was nobody.

"Of course," I answered, lying outright. In a few minutes she had skipped into her house, and she was gone. I dragged my feet as I walked the rest of the way home.

There was a note on the refridgerator from my my mother that said, "Went to pick up Stevie from daycare," causing a huge wave of relief to settle over me. My mom was always ready, it seemed, with a barrage of carefully-calculated questions to ask me everyday after school. I was now well-acquainted with her Mom-language. "How was your day?" translated to, "Have you actually been going to class?" and "Did anything exciting happen?" was her way of asking, "Did you get high at school?" Funny how in middle school, I did whatever I wanted and she never cared or even asked. But now that I was in high school, and under her meticulously scrutinous eye, I never did anything anyway. I spent more time in my bedroom than anywhere else. If she knew how ungodly boring my life actually was, she'd probably be _begging _me to skip class and get high.

I discarded the refridgerator note and pulled open the cabinet doors. I hadn't been able to finish my lunch, and now I was starving. I dragged my eyes back and forth across the fully-packed shelves. Colorful boxes with pictures on the front, clear bags of pasta, cans of soup, jars of sauces. Blues and reds and greens, with patches of black and white Nutrition Facts peering down at me. Pop-Tarts, apples, macaroni and cheese, Oreos, saltine crackers, blueberry bagels. I bit my lip as I tried to choose, imagining each of these items on my tongue. I pictured myself taking a bite of each thing. The mental image made me shudder. Nothing sounded... right. I wrinkled my nose and closed the cabinet doors. I sighed and went upstairs.

I dropped my heavy bag onto my bedroom floor with a loud thunk and jumped onto my fluffy, throw pillow covered bed. I reached for the remote on my bedside table and turned on my stereo; one of the CDs Cody had burned for me, And You Will Know Us By The Trail of the Dead, eased into the room through the speakers. Cody's music was gradually replacing my own. Christina, Aaron Carter, Avril Lavigne, Now! compilations, and a variety of other colorful CDs all lay forgotten in my old purple case. Cody's obscure indie music was much better suited to my newfound moodiness... not to mention the fact that these were CDs _Cody_ had touched.

I took a deep breath and rolled onto my back. It was Friday afternoon, and another miserable week of high school was behind me. I folded my legs Indian style and sighed as I stared at the walls of my room.

Lizzie's absence hovered over me like an endless raincloud. I thought of how she was hurrying to touch up her hair and scarf some dinner, anxiously anticipating the exciting night that lie ahead of her. Lizzie was always so busy lately. Suddenly the person that was as constant in my life as toothpaste wasn't there any more; she had too many other commitments, too many other people calling for her time and attention. I hadn't realized before how much I depended on her to be the basin into which I poured all my excess thoughts. How quickly we take three-way calling for granted; I now barely even spoke to her at school, let alone on the phone. The isolation was murder. I just needed her, only her, for a little while. I needed to tell her things. I needed to tell her that I was in Eli's band and learning to play bass, that I was failing science, that I had been eating lunch with Cody Pearson every day for three weeks and was developing a major crush, that my mom was driving me crazy. I needed to tell her that I was jealous of her new friends. And that I wished we could spend more time together. And that I'd seen this really cute jacket at the mall. I needed her to giggle with me, sympathetize with me, make me feel like someone was there to catch me. I had no one to listen to me but the silence, and with all those thoughts trapped inside me, I felt for sure I would explode at any minute.

So I stared at the walls. Lately it seemed like I spent all of my time staring at the walls. Blue paint, a myriad of cheap posters, Christmas lights along the ceiling. I gazed at these same surroundings for hours on end, sitting as still as possible, trying hard to just clear my mind of everything. Trying not to feel. I would get hungry, but I wouldn't go get something to eat. I would get lonely, but I wouldn't pick up the phone to call anyone. I would get sad, but I wouldn't cry. I would get bored, but I still just wouldn't do anything. No moving, no feeling. Just trying to hold everything inside, because there was too much to think about, and too many different feelings, for me to deal with anything. Turn on the stereo, stare at the walls; that was my daily routine.

And oh, there were so many constructive things I could have been doing with that Friday afternoon. My brain tinged with exhaustion as I pondered all the many things I needed to get done. I could have been cleaning my room, which my mother had been nagging me about since the beginning of the school year. I could have been practicing on Freddie, the bass guitar Eli had lent me. I could have given Gordo a call. I could have read some of _To Kill A Mockingbird_, which I was now four chapters behind on in English class. I could have started my homework, or studied the science notes I hadn't actually taken, or even better, spent time thinking up a tactful way to tell my mom about the science quiz currently stuffed in my backpack with a 49 in red ink. I could have been working up the motivation to go to the football game, primping myself and making myself look pretty, mentally preparing myself to be social. But I couldn't. I wouldn't. Instead I just stared at the walls. I would rather stare and feel nothing than do _anything _at all. The light coming in through the blinds gradually grew dimmer, shifting from bright yellow to pink to translucent blue. My CD came to a stop but I didn't even have the motivation to put in a new one. No moving, no feeling. Stare at the walls.

Eight o'clock rolled around and I descended the stairs. I found my mother in the kitchen with my five-year-old sister, painting her nails. Stevie smiled when she saw me enter and immediately lifted up her hands for me to see, causing my mother to accidently spread a streak of pink nail polish across Stevie's finger. "Look, sissy!" she said, beaming with pride. "Just like yours!"

I smiled back at her. "That's really pretty, Stevie."

My mother laughed and shook her head as she took hold of Stevie's hand again, using nail polish remover to clean up her finger. "Not quite the same as sissy's," she said with an air of light-hearted disapproval. "Miranda's too old for pink now. Moody teengagers have to wear black."

I rolled my eyes. "It's not about being moody, Mom. It's rock and roll, man." I almost cupped my hand to my mouth right then, surprised at what I'd said. Clearly I'd been spending too much time with Eli, who seemed to think anything he liked was "rock and roll, man."

"Ohhh. I see." Mom turned to my sister with a sarcastic expression. "You hear that, Stevie? It's rock and roll." My mother and my little sister giggled. I folded my arms and sighed. "So tell me, Miss Rock And Roll, do you need a ride to the game tonight?"

Was someone sending my mother a social calendar or something? God. Someone put a pistol to my head. "I'm uh... I'm not going tonight, actually. I've got band practice. Could you drop me off at Eli's?"

She held her breath for a moment. "Well I guess so, sweetie. But isn't this Lizzie's first game? Doesn't she want you there?"

Yeah, thanks again for the news flash, Mom. I tucked back my uneven hair and fidgeted in impatience. "It's okay, Mom. I've talked to Lizzie, she understands that band practice is important to me. I'll go to the next one." Funny how lies always conveniently spill from my lips.

My mother clicked her tongue in the way she often did when she was unhappy with me, but didn't actually have any valid reason to be. She finished the last of Stevie's nails and twisted the lid back on the bottle. "All right then. Let's go."

Maybe it was my imagination, but I felt like my mom was trying hard not to look at me for the whole car ride.


	6. By Your Side

_FYI: It is entirely possible that "chortled" is not even a word. But that's what I get for loving Lewis Carroll like I do._

o o o o o o

After lying to Mom once more to tell her Eli's parents were definitely home, I let myself into the Saxon residence, as I'd grown used to doing the past three Fridays. I sauntered down to the basement and things looked just about the same as every other band practice; Parker was on the couch looking bored and flipping through a copy of Rolling Stone, Vince and Mosey were making goo-goo faces at one another, and Eli was sitting next to the stereo with his guitar, trying to pick out the chords to a Jimi Hendrix song.

"Yo, Mimi," he said upon my entrance. "We're working on Voodoo Child. I think it'll be a good cover for us."

I nodded and sighed, joining Parker on the couch and preparing for another Friday night of accomplishing absolutely nothing. That's what being in a high school band was all about, I'd quickly learned. It was 10 percent music, 20 percent arguing, and 70 percent sitting around goofing off. That night was no exception, of course. I spent the next hour hovering lethargically over a "Bass Guitar For Dummies" book, passing the time by running through my scales, occasionally attempting to play along with the stereo. Mosey buried herself in a copy of a script of some play while Eli and Vince dove into a conversation that drifted from band names (this week we were Streak Free Shine, but you never knew when Eli was going to change it again), to a gazillion indie bands I'd never heard of, to Skittles vs. M&Ms, to Franz Kafka's _Metamorphosis, _to Hilary Duff's "Metamorphosis," and to places I eventually tuned out. Parker lifted her head from her magazine every so often to throw in a sharp-tongued comment.

It was when the two boys were deeply engrossed in a card game of E.R.S., their instruments sitting long forgotten, that Parker at last let out a heavy sigh, tossed Rolling Stone to the floor, and turned to me.

"This scene is getting old," she said tiredly over the noise of Jimi's crooning axe. "What do you say we meander? Find something worth our time."

The thought of _meandering_ anywhere with Parker was a little scary, but at that moment my boredom was just enough to push me to such acts of madness. "Sure," I said, putting Freddie back into his case.

No one seemed to notice or care when Parker and I went upstairs to the kitchen. I leaned awkwardly against the counter, soaking in the decor of the ecclectic Saxon household, while Parker skimmed carelessly through the cupboards like she owned the place. She opened the freezer and peaked inside. "What's your poison, Sanchez?" she asked, pulling out a carton of ice cream. "I'm a green tea girl myself, but we've got cookie dough, French vanilla, chocolate banana fudge brownie, mint chocolate chip..."

"Wow," I said, raising my eyebrows. "Think they like icecream much?"

Parker shrugged. "Hello, this is Eli's house. The guy's a sugar junkie in the biggest way."

I nodded, recalling the backpack full of sweets and his habitual Starburst-popping. "Yeah, guess so. Hook me up with mint chocolate chip, I guess." Parker obliged, pulling another carton out of icecream and passing it two me. She removed two spoons from a nearby drawer and pointed towards the staircase. "To the roof," she instructed with her signature unfaltering authoritativeness.

I followed her upstairs and through Eli's room, which I might note was the most bizarre and disgusting place I've ever laid eyes on, and finally out the window onto the roof. We situated ourselves on the black shingle terrain, facing the sprawling Emerald Hills subdivision below us. Beyond the neighborhood's gates was mine and Lizzie's neighborhood, past that was the park, and in the distance we could even see the glaring lights of the high school football field. I dipped my spoon into the creamy block of seafoam-toned icecream, indulging into the great comfort I felt at being so far away from that place.

"So you seem to know your way around Eli's kitchen pretty well," I said conversationally, timidly licking the sweet substance from my spoon. "You must spend alot of time here."

Parker chortled through her icecream, shaking her head. "Alot is kind of an understatement. I practically live here," she informed me. She pointed across the roof to the house next door. "That over there is technically my place of residence. But seeing as my sister is demon spawn from hell and my parents are, to say the least, a total drag, I try to sneak away to Eli's whenever I can."

"Your parents don't mind?" I was sadly reminded of my mother's recent mandate to cut back on the hours I was allowed to spend at Gordo's.

Parker laughed again. I was beginning to notice she did that alot, as if she was just so above everything around her. Life was a joke, and in her mind, she was the only one who got the punchline. "Please. My parents probably don't even _notice,_ let alone mind. Mr. and Mrs. McKenzie lead something of a... busy life. They're what you'd call professional philanthropists. My dad's head of the art school Jeff U, and he and my mom are always knee-deep in local cultural affairs. Lots of snotty banquets and ass-kissing to attend to."

Parker spoke with such biting eloquence that I couldn't help but feel a little simple-minded. It was like talking to Gordo when he was really fired up about something. "Well um, that sounds cool."

"Cool? Hardly. It's the exact opposite of cool. My parents are borgeois sell-outs. It's disgusting. They've completely given in to this idea of a cookie-cutter W.A.S.P. suburbian dream family, and they don't even realize they're ruining us. Maddy's with a nanny 24/7, and I... well, I could be a coke runner for the Columbian drug cartel for all my parents know. They are completely oblivious to anything that matters, most specifically, their own children."

I shrugged. "Enjoy it while it lasts. My parents used to be really laid back, gave me alot of space. Now it's like, they want to know what I'm doing every freaking second of the day. They have to be updated every hour, on the hour. I'm about to go one hundred percent postal." I was waving my hands around as I spoke, getting a little more flustered than I even realized. Parker's eyes were intently following my speech, nodding. We were listening to one another, I realized. There was actually a subject matter on which we could relate. I was shocked as this knowledge sunk in, pausing for a moment, but I soon dove right into venting once more. "And it's like, they don't even realize how sucky my life is. And how every time they ask me how I'm doing, I want to scream. Because I totally don't want to talk about or even THINK about how I'm doing right now."

Parker sucked a dallop of green tea icecream from her spoon and nodded. She pointed her spoon at me knowingly. "Having a little trouble coping with your existence, are you?" she asked. I had no idea what that meant, but I liked the way it sounded. I nodded fervently, and Parker nodded as well. "Sounds to me like you're having an identity crisis. Is that why you got the random psycho haircut? Eli's mom says hair is like, an extension of one's being. And when your being is disturbed, you do something extreme to your hair because it's like, cathartic."

Well actually, my being got bored and decided to get high, causing me to lose the hair I loved so much. But I liked Eli's mom's idea, too. Couldn't hurt anyone if I played along, right? "Yeah," I said. "Something like that. I mean, it was kind of an accident but... a good accident. I needed a change."

"Mmhmm. And let me guess, this act of catharsis was due to Lizzie McGuire suddenly being the It Girl, right? Not easy to be the girl left in the shadow of someone who was temporarily an Italian pop star."

I felt my face droop. We'd been having so much fun playing pretend, talking about beings and cathar-thingies, faraway from the world below the roof, and now she had to bring up the topic of reality again. I sighed as I looked towards the football field lights. "It's not like I'm in her shadow," I tried to explain. It was more like, I wasn't even on her radar any more. "It's just... things are different. Lizzie's like, popular. And it's weird."

Parker wrinkled her nose in frustration as she gathered another spoonful of icecream. "Okay, can I just stop you for a sec? How is it that Lizzie fit into the picture like, ever? We've all been in school together for an ungodly number of years, and it's never really made sense to me. There's you, obviously an original, kind of edgy, likes to push boundaries. And then there's Gordo, who's obviously light years ahead of the rest of us, brilliant and nonconformist to the extreme. You two make sense as friends. But Lizzie? She's a ball of fluff. She has the depth of a frisbee. What have you two been doing with her?"

I felt bad about it, but I laughed in spite of myself. Parker was just as mean as I'd always thought she was. But she was funny, too, apparently. "Aw, she's not that bad. Really. She's into all that environmental stuff just like you are. And she reads alot... alot more than I do, anyway. And she's just... Lizzie. It's hard to explain. She can be selfish, and stubborn, and ditzy, and sometimes she talks too much..." I cleared my throat to stop myself from continuing on that train of thought. "But she's nice. To everyone. And she tries really hard to make everything right whenever she can."

Just talking about it made me miss her. It made me miss all three of us, all together, functioning as a unit the way we'd been doing for so long. I dug my spoon into the carton of icecream, scooping again and again to gather up the perfect bite, but when I brought it to my lips, I couldn't take a bite. My spirits had suddenly sank. I shoved the spoon into the box and set it down beside me, sighing.

Parker shrugged and made a sour face. "Well, whatever. _I _never really liked her. She annoys me. Every time I talk to her, I feel like I need an insulin shot."

I smiled. "You're just still upset about that lunchbox thing, aren't you?"

Immediately I saw something that amazed me; Parker's ever-confident disposition twitched in discomfort. "Huh? Lunchbox thing? I... don't think I remember that."

I laughed. "Sure you do. Your Titanic lunchbox? In fifth grade? Lizzie sat on it."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I never had a Titanic lunchbox." Her cheeks went red. I could hardly register my glee.

"Parker, you're _blushing_!" Dramatically, I faked a gasp, giggling all the while. "Is it possible? Parker the wench _blushes_? Stop the presses, this is front page news."

She shook her head and finally gave in, laughing a little with me. Laughing, but not quite smiling. I wasn't sure I'd ever seen her really crack a smile. "All right, fine, I may have at one point _borrowed_ my _sister's_ Titanic lunchbox. And that's as much of a confession as you're getting out of me." She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "I've got to remember to watch you. You're a sneaky one."

She reached into the pocket of her denim jacket and pulled out a crumpled red and white box of Marlboros. I watched, slightly on edge and slightly in awe, as she retrieved a cigarette from the box and placed it casually between her lips. She held a hot pink lighter to the end of it, cupping her hand over the flame. A silvery cloud of smoke poured from her pursed lips as she exhaled her first drag. She ran her fingers through her hair, and suddenly I noticed how her eyes seemed really tired. Like eyes that were older than the girl who owned them. She leaned back against the inclined triangular part of the roof.

"So while we're on that train of thought, tell me," she said, flicking her cigarette. Tiny orange sparks glittered through the black air. "Lizzie and Gordo. Official item, friends with benefits, or just friends?"

I held my breath and stared at my chipping finger nail polish. "You tell me," I answered with a little more bitterness than I intended. "I mean, whatever. There's obviously something between them. But what they're doing about it is beyond me. They're trying to act like everything's the same. Which is stupid, because everything is so not the same."

Parker nodded. "Sexual tension. How dee-lish. And I guess this is rude of me, but since I have never given a shit about being polite, where do _you _fit into this tangled web? Harboring your own secret crush on Gordo? Or maybe even on Lizzie, perhaps?" She giggled cynically and took a puff from her cigarette.

I wrinkled my nose and shook my head. "None of the above, thanks. I'm not exactly a 'crush' kind of girl. Romance is really just... not worth the effort for me. It's fun to, like, play along sometimes, but most of the time I just don't even care, you know? And I kind of wish Lizzie and Gordo were the same way. Because this... 'sexual tension' is making things just a bit too complicated for me."

"I see." Parker took a slow drag of her cigarette as she thought for a moment, soaking in what I'd said. "Not a crush girl. So I guess that means this Cody Pearson character is just a friend then, right?"

I felt my stomach get a little squishy. "Oh. Cody. Well... I guess it might be possible that I could have a crush on Cody. I mean, kind of. Since when are you so interested in all this, anyway?" Yes, that's it, Miranda, turn the tables. I had always been good at changing the subject when I didn't feel like talking about something.

She shrugged. "I don't know. I'm a watcher. It's much more fun for me to observe and analyze my peers than it is to, god forbid, _interact_ with them."

I thought about that for a minute. I had never known, in our many years of school together, how to classify Parker McKenzie. But that seemed like an apt title: watcher. In middle school she was something of an enigma. She kept to herself alot, but at the same time you could never escape her bold commentary. She was one of the smart kids, into things that were artsy and weird, but at the same time she dated popular boys and hung around with the drama kids, who were second-tier popular. She wasn't a loner, but she wasn't overly social, either. She was her own category. And at that moment on the roof, I understood that she really had been watching everything all along.

"You know, you're an alright kid, Sanchez," she said. She held out her pack of cigarettes. "You want one?"

I inhaled for a moment, pausing to think. I mean, everyone stumbles into moments like that, moments where you're supposed to remember the weeks and weeks of conditioning they gave you in every health class since kindergarten: Just say no. But I had never had much of an attention span for school, so instead of health class I thought of Mexico. The air in Mexico that was equivalent to two packs of cigarettes a day. Poison on a roof in Mexico, poison on a roof in Hillridge. No B.D., right? And I guess, though I didn't want to admit it at the time, I also was just too tempted by the idea of being just as cool and enigmatic as Parker.

"Sure," I said, taking one from the package. She lit it for me and I inhaled. It burned. Bad. I felt like I was swallowing fire. I coughed. Alot.

Parker laughed. "Easy, Mimi. Don't hurt yourself."

Trying as hard as I possibly could to hold my cigarette and not look like a complete dirk, I cocked an eyebrow and grinned with curiosity at her using the nickname Eli had so lovingly bestowed upon me, no matter how many times I corrected him. "Mimi? Don't tell me _your_ going to start calling me that, too."

She shrugged. "What, you don't like it? I think it's swell. Besides, 'Miranda' is going through an identity crisis, remember? I didn't want to offend you or anything by bringing her up."

I laughed softly and took another puff from the virgin cigarette between my fingers. I realized that everything I'd assumed about Parker up until that moment was right. But somehow, she was kind of cool, too. I shook my head and smiled. "You know, Parker... you're kind of weird."

"Amen, sister."

And I guess that's where our friendship was sealed.


	7. Make Over

_FYI: Beck's new album rocks. Purchase it._

o o o o o o

Though in the beginning of the school year, time had seemed to pass torturously slow, it eventually started catching up to me, and before I knew it September was almost over. Leaves were turning colors, midterms were only three weeks away, and talk of Homecoming was in the air.

My mother was screaming from downstairs that I was going to miss the bus if I didn't hurry. I was currently poised shirtless in front of my mirror in a pair of worn jeans that were personalized by my own graffiti, tugging at the waistband in dismay. I turned from side to side, frowning at the figure in the reflection. It was the third pair of jeans I'd tried on and I still wasn't happy with the way they looked. I wasn't happy with the way anything looked. The girl I saw in the mirror was hideous, unfit to walk the halls of high school. My mother kept yelling, and finally I shrugged and gave up. There was no more time to change again, and in any case, it was kind of a lost cause.

I reached for the shirt on my dresser and carelessly slid it over my head. I grabbed a pile of miscellaneous bracelets and shoved them onto my wrists, and added another layer of black eyeliner for good measure. I took a step back and examined myself once more. My mirror reflected black hair gelled wildly in various directions, a look I'd begun to adopt over the past weeks; beat-up jeans; mistmatched jewelry; slinky green t-shirt; thick black liner and green eyeshadow. It was a very calculated kind of grungy. I liked grungy. It made me feel... covered. Disguised. It was the kind of style that said "I don't try," which was the ideal way to cover up the fact that I did try. As hard as I could.

I dashed down the stairs, sliding my shoes on as I ran through the kitchen towards the front door. My mother was holding out a napkin wrapped around two pieces of buttered toast. "Here, mija, you can eat this on the bus," she said, using her free hand to try and smooth out my hair.

I rolled my eyes as I slipped my arms through the straps of my backpack. "Mama, I'm not hungry," I told her. I gently shoved her hands out of my hair. "I've got to go."

She sighed and put the toast on the table in front of my father instead. He sat down his newspaper as he reached for the toast and caught a glimpse of me. "That's a very interesting shirt, Miranda," he noted, biting into the breakfast that had been made with love for me.

I looked down at said shirt, which was hunter green and decorated with white iron-on letters that read, _Eat My Apathy._ I blushed. "Yeah, um, it's Parker's... hey I better go, I'm going to miss the bus."

I'd already reached far beyond my conversation-with-the-'rents quota for the day. I hurried out the door, but unfortunately, I was not fast enough to miss hearing my mother yell after me, "Pull up your pants, I can see your underwear!"

The Eat My Apathy shirt was just one of many of Parker's things that had worked their way into my life recently. There are many remarkable things you can discover when getting to know a new friend, but probably the coolest of those is finding out that other than you being a few inches taller, you and your new friend are practically the same size. What does this mean, you ask? It means your wardrobe has just doubled. As I spent more and more time with Parker, some days getting off the bus at her house instead of mine, I began to dig through her closet just as thoroughly as I dug through her personality. I wore her jeans, I borrowed her bohemian jewelry. I smoked her cigarettes and took her t-shirts. I was collecting pieces of Parker.

That morning I found myself desperately wishing Parker rode the bus. She could have kept me entertained while the rest of my friends rambled on about Homecoming and other things that were over my head. Sometimes when I was with them, I felt invisible. And when they did take notice of me, I always wished they hadn't.

"I like those bracelets, Randa," said Kate, barely putting forth the effort of a smile. "They're really... unique."

Lizzie nodded in agreement. "Miranda's always been so much more creative with her clothes than I am," she said.

Gordo, breaking away from his in-depth video game discussion with Ethan, looked over at us, eyeing me with suspicion. "Eat my apathy?" he questioned. "Miranda, do you even know what apathy means?"

I didn't, actually. I tried hard not to blush. Instead I rolled my eyes dismissively, the way I often did when Gordo was pulling the smart-kid trump card. "Shut up, Gordo."

Ethan gasped suddenly, a few steps behind the conversation as always. "Dude," he said in a shocked whisper. "Is that about like... _drugs_? Like that guy who sold the drugs in Romeo and Juliet?"

There was an odd silence as everyone stared in confusion at Ethan.

Gordo sighed. "Ethan, that's an apothecary."

And that is why I loathed the bus.

When the block of cheese dumped us poor unfortunate souls into the high school, I parted ways with my chums and went to join Parker and Eli in my usual morning spot. I had long given up on trying to hang with Lizzie's new crew; I was either invisible or "unique" to them, neither of which I took as a compliment. With Parker's friends, I wasn't unique at all. In comparison to most of them, I was the closest thing to normal they had.

I had come to understand, in my month and a half of high school, the essential and intricate workings of the commons area. Where you flocked in the mornings and other non-class times was not only a place to hang out and pass time, but also a statement of who exactly you were.

The center of the commons area was reserved for the people who mattered: popular upperclassmen. The celebrities of the school, the beautiful people, the "anyones," in their various rank and file. Pushed slightly out of the way, towards the front entrance doors, were the next generation of populars, the budding freshman and sophomores. This was where Lizzie, Kate, Ethan, and even Gordo could now be found.

To the left of this epicenter was the large, mixed group of drama kids, smart kids, artsy kids, B-team jocks, and other assorted normal kids; people who were semi-socially acceptable, but not important. They covered the area in front of the outdoor pavilion entrance. The pavilion was for seniors only, and the seniors who claimed that area were the intellectuals and "originals." Past all this was a hall that contained the band and chorus rooms, where all the Bandies could be found. Band was a cult, and those involved with it rarely communicated with anyone outside their realm.

On the other side of the commons area, to the right of the popular clump, were the Thug Gangstaz, claiming the area in front of the gym entrance. These were tough kids with beanies and expensive shoes, slutty girls with reputations, guys who had flunked a lot of grades and had spinning rims on their cars, and all other brands of bullies and deliquents. Past this area there was a vending machine nook, where you could find the skeeves, skaters, and stoners. There was also the cafeteria, of course, where the Untouchables could be found: the grossest of geeks with their nose-picking and Star Wars collectibles, the anime kids with their trading cards, the rednecks with their chewing tobacco, and the poor kids with their nothing.

Lastly, southward of all this exciting drama, at the opening of the hall that led to the main academic wings, you had the Weird Kids. They were different from most of the other groups because they were Sitters; the general practice in the commons area was to stand around in lumps. The Weird Kids, however, sat scattered along the walls. There were two very different kinds of weird kids. On one side of the hall, you had the Hot Topic Kids; mall goths, freaks, pagans, kids with trenchcoats and shifty eyes. On the opposite side you had the Indie Kids; hippies, music snobs, punks, rock and rollers, emo kids, and eccentrics. These two groups, though equally weird to the rest of the student body, were sworn enemies.

When I arrived that morning to take my acquired spot on the Indie Wall, I noticed that Angel Leiberman had taken a few bold steps away from her usual place at amongst the Hot Topic Kids, crossing no man's land to our side of the hall. She and Eli were standing together, heatedly involved in an argument.

"Modest Mouse?" Eli snapped, his eyes shocked and aghast. "Are you KIDDING me? That is not rock and roll, my friend. That is pretentious, drunken, Oasis-meets-Jet idiocy. I mean, maybe in the early days you could have found a few half-way decent tracks, but as soon as they got _signed_..."

"Oh, whatever!" Angel interjected, throwing up the unmistakble talk-to-the-hand gesture. "Don't even try to pull the indie card on me, Eli. You're still just bitter because you're not the only person who knows about Pretty Girls Make Graves anymore and that pisses you off..."

I decided at that point to tune them out. It was the kind of argument I'd grown very used to hearing: endless music banter. These kids could drop band names, genres, and obscure facts quicker than I could blink. There was no point in listening; they were speaking another language as far as I was concerned. I dropped my bag on the floor and took a seat, peering over at Mosey, who was scribbling in a small notepad.

"Whatchu doing?" I asked.

She glanced up at Eli and Angel, nodding towards them. "Keeping score," she said.

Oh, the things weird kids do to amuse themselves.

Parker lifted her eyes from the Chuck Palanhuik book in which she engrossed and acknowledged me with a vaguely enthusiastic nod. "My shirt looks hot on you," she said.

I smiled weakly, unsure of how I was supposed to respond to that. Parker's compliments were always veiled in such mystery and ambiguous intentions. I had to be careful; I never knew when she was tricking me into an insult. "Uh, yeah," I said. "So... what's with Angel and Eli?"

Parker shrugged. "Hell if I know. Angel, as you well know, has the intelligence of a toad, and therefore is the only one willing to put up with an Eli-conversation that lasts longer than five minutes. As you can tell, he's thrilled with the attention." Eli was currently red-faced and practically spitting in Angel's face as they chewed each other out. He didn't looked "thrilled" at all to me, but Parker had known him since birth, so I figured she knew better than I. There wasn't anything, actually, that Parker didn't know more about than me.

One of the very first things I learned about Parker was that she had opinions. About everything. Music groups, politics, social controversies, fashion trends, movies, books, the entire history of Western civilization, and above all, our fellow students; nothing was too big or small to be subject to Parker's unmerciful critiques. In the beginning, I tended to be annoyed by everything she said, still holding on to that middle school perception of her as a snob that was all talk. But as I spent more and more time with her, I was sucked in, held under the spell she wove with her unceasing supply of words. I was impressed and overwhelmed by everything she knew about the world. I stayed by her and soaked in all that she said, ever-intrigued by her running commentary of life around us. It was awe-inspiring, the way she honest-to-God lived her life as though she was the center. Her confidence was as unwavering as stone. She molded her every word and action with such conviction. I used to think I was a pretty bold kid, but after spending some time with Parker McKenzie, I adopted a whole new understanding of the word.

The bell rang, and like trained monkeys the students that cluttered the commons area began to gather their things and head in the direction of their first period classes. For me that meant physical science with Mr. Casey, a lanky, hook-nosed villain who enjoyed killing me slowly through the art of subtle cruelty and chemical formulas. I sighed and took my time in sliding my messenger bag over my shoulder, falling into stride beside Parker and Eli as we ambled through the crowded halls. It was amazing to me, how all of us were crammed so tightly together, pushing and shoving and touching one another on a daily basis, and yet there were such slean-cut lines that separated us all.

As I neared the hall labeled "Science Wing," I caught a glimpse of an all-too-familar face through the shroud of assorted high school students. She was decked out in a lilac baby tee, Express jeans, birthday cake-flavored lip gloss, and carefully straightened blonde hair; it felt like she was standing a million miles away from me. Had it really only been twenty minutes ago that we sat on the bus together, best friends forever? I watched with curiousity as Lizzie leaned against her red locker, cradling a stack of text books. I squinted to see through the quickly moving crowd and noticed that she was talking to someone. She giggled at the boy as she brushed aside her feathery bangs.

"Who the hell is _that_?" I asked, gawking at Lizzie's companion with eyes as wide as hubcaps. He was without a doubt the strangest, prettiest, most unreal boy I'd ever laid eyes on. He was Asian, built like a dream, and stood at least a foot over Lizzie's head. He could have just walked out of an artsy music video: chin-length, bronze-streaked hair gelled and styled with precision even Kate Sanders would have envied; pooka shells, rubber bracelets, a single pink plastic mini-hoop earring; a fitted red Rolling Stones t-shirt and strategically ripped jeans; kelly green converse with pink shoelaces. And maybe I was imagining things on this one, but I could have sworn _he _had on birthday cake-flavored lip gloss, too. I was ten kinds of baffled. He was gorgeous but perplexing, godly but bizarre. And he was standing over my best friend, smiling at her like she was effing Georgette Skylar or something.

Parker eyed the boy, of course, without any sense of confusion. "Charlie Kurasaki?" she said with her usual air of all-knowingness. "The most delicious and infamous boy in the Junior class? You never cease to kill me with your obliviousness, Mimi."

"Yeah, thanks, I'll be here all week." I still couldn't alleviate my bewilderment. They were standing so close. Hadn't I heard his name before? It was so hard to remember. "Well who is he? Where did he come from? Why is talking to Lizzie?"

"He's a reknowned social butterfly... A complete and utter hipster. He's almost too trendy for his own good, but because he's filthy rich and like, the God of Baseball, the populars love him. Everyone loves him... everyone that isn't completely intimidated by him, I guess. Call him the token eccentric. He can do no wrong. He's like a Weird Kid that somehow elevated himself to the level of a supreme high school being." She was caught up for a moment, gazing at him with the utmost admiration, but she quickly wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Now, why he's hanging around McGuire is anyone's guess. I've heard he has a thing for cheerleaders, but _Lizzie_?"

"I heard his parents are in the Japanese mafia," Eli interjected with a mouth full of Starburst. "And that's where all the money comes from."

Parker sighed. "You also heard that Sophie Oberman ate some bad shrooms and puked up a kidney."

Eli's mouth gaped open and he gasped incredulously. "What, you don't think that really happened?"

I barely heard them. I was still staring, confused and uncertain. "I still don't know why he's talking to Lizzie..." I said quietly.

Eli shrugged and gave me a slap on the back. "Eh, don't worry about it. The guy's a total fairy. They're probably talking about body glitter or shampoo or something."

Parker laughed coldly. "Evidence yet again that Eli knows jack about anything. I know this whole boy-girl thing is still a difficult concept for you to wrap your brain around, but _that_ over there is not girl-talk. That's one hundred percent flirting." She turned her head in my direction with a mischievious expression. "Why don't you go over there and investigate, Sanchez? You and McGuire are totally BFFs, right?" Her mocking tone was not at all encouraging.

"Um, yeah, actually, I think I'd better get to class... Casey's got enough dirt on me already, I don't need to be late for class on top of everything else." And besides, it's not like I could just go up and _talk _to my best friend in the world while she was in the middle of a conversation with a gorgeous popular upperclassmen I'd never seen before in my life. High school just didn't work that way.

As I turned quickly and tried to make a mad dive for the science hall, I found myself colliding head-on with someone else. I rubbed my shoulder, which now ached, and looked at my victim. She was thin, fairly tall brunette with a piss-yellow highlights and a bitchy expression. After a moment I recognized her as Nameless Girl, Lizzie's friend from English.

"Ugh! Watch where you're going, Taco!" she snapped viciously before storming off along her merry way.

I stood dumbstruck for a moment as she strutted away, feeling the harsh sting of a verbal bitchslap on my cheek. I tucked back a stray chunk of black hair as I sighed, already hating another god-awful day. Reluctantly, I carried my heavy feet to the Science Class of All Hell. I tired to avoid Mr. Casey's gaze as I slipped into my seat.

As soon as I sat down, the plump head of red-orange curls in front of me whipped around and eyed me with ambiguous interest. "Good morning, Miranda," said Veruca Stuckerman. She was kind of a creepy girl by nature, the kind you expected to snap at any moment, so I tried to maintain as much neutrality around her as I could.

"Um, hey Veruca. What's up?"

The chubby girl shrugged. "Someone threw a wad of gum into my French horn this morning, it was rather upsetting."

"Oh. That sucks."

"Yes, well, these things happen. But anyway, I have something for you." She reached into the depths of her Dwarflord trapper keeper and pulled out a folded square of notebook paper. "I promised Cody Pearson I would deliver this."

I felt my crappy mood improve ten-fold as I thanked her and snatched the note from her hand. It was labeled with my name, written in his familiar scrawl, and decorated with stars and smiley faces. How precious. I anxiously unfolded the note and read over it. It included the usual, "What's up, nothing much here, see you at lunch, etc." jabber, but it ended with a message that made my heart jump.

_I'm going to an arts festival this Saturday in Jefferson, and I was wondering if you'd like to come along. I went last year, and it's pretty awesome. We can talk about it at lunch. -Cody_

I read the last few lines over at least fourteen times before the bell rang and I was forced to stash my treasure away before the evil Mr. Casey confiscated it. I found myself desperately trying to listen to his lecture, but somehow instead of notes, dozens of hearts and Cody Pearson's name managed to appear all over my paper. But oh well. The old fart could go to hell. I had just been asked on a _date _by Cody, and nothing, not even Lizzie's mystery boy, Nameless Girl's bitchy comments, or Mr. Casey's stupid periodic table could burst my bubble.


	8. What A Girl Wants

_FYI: A lot of time has passed since I last posted._

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All of my excitement aside, I have to say that a date that requires me to wake up at 9:30 on a Saturday is a pretty bum deal. I changed my outfit at least seven times, utterly trashing my room as I tossed aside dozens of articles of clothing that just weren't good enough. I paced around my room, muttering things and wincing every time I caught a glimpse of my reflection. At last I found myself on the floor, fifteen minutes before Cody was supposed to be there, sobbing into my knees. Why did something so simple have to be so unreasonably difficult? I just wanted to be mildly pretty for one solitary day and have an amazing time with this amazing boy that for whatever twisted reason, actually found me interesting.

In times of crises such as these, it would be customary to call your best friend. She would rush over and tell you not to worry, you looked fine, and everything would go well. She would help you do your hair and squeeze your hand and squeal, "Good luck!" But I knew, as I sat there trying to wipe the tears from my face without destroying my make-up, that I couldn't pick up the phone and call Lizzie. Lizzie didn't even know I _had _a date. I wasn't sure I'd even _talked _to Lizzie in the past few days, other than on the bus. When we spoke it felt like plastic. Like the polite conversation you have with aunts and uncles and deaf grandparents when they come to visit. I sighed and swallowed the pang of loss I felt as I wondered why it was that my best friend was nowhere to be found.

I thought of my mother, how she used to comb my hair every morning and tie it into colorful ribbons. I used to think she was so cool, so much cooler than any mom could be, just because she let me put colored streaks in my hair and shave my legs before all the other girls could. I imagined what it would be like if I went to her now, asked her to help make me pretty again. My stomached curled. My mother never looked at me the same way anymore. I didn't want her eyes on me if I could help it.

Then I thought of Parker. Parker was often the person I thought of these days, particularly when I found myself trying to block out everyone else in my life. Parker's voice was the only one I took to be absolute truth. Everyone else was a dull roar of lies and unnecessary bull shit, judging me and hurting me and weighing down my mind. But Parker knew all, spoke all, threw the real and cold truth right into your face.

I glanced into the mirror, tugging at the voluminous flesh around me cheeks, trying to tuck away the folds of fat around my stomach. As much as I wanted Parker to be the one to comfort me, I knew she wouldn't. She would tell me the truth… and I was afraid the truth about myself was something I wasn't ready for.

I was flung into further panic when I heard a chipper car horn blast ungodly loud outside my house, and saw Cody's mother's car parked outside. I ran to the mirror to hurriedly to wipe away my smeared black mascara, and grabbed a black hoodie off the floor. I said goodbye to my mother without meeting her eyes and shuffled out the door.

I slowed my pace as I got nearer to the car, feeling more self-conscious and petrified than the time I puked during the school play. I climbed into the side of the mauve mini-van. Cody and his mother simultaneously turned around to face me. Cody grinned shyly at me, barely making eye contact; his mother, quite the opposite, beamed at me with an ear-to-ear smile and waved excitedly. She was a thin, wiry woman with gold, pineapple-shaped earrings and a fanny pack.

"Well hello there, Miss Miranda Sanchez!" she chirped, her wide eyes glittering enthusiastically. I'd never seen anyone so cheerful in my life, and it was mildly terrifying. "Cody has told me _so _much about you. These past few weeks it's just been Miranda this, Miranda that. I'm so glad I finally get to meet you." She held out her bony hand to me, the teal beaded bracelet around her wrist jangling. I mumbled a hello and shook her hand. Cody was blushing.

The twenty minute drive to Jefferson was one of the most surreal and awkward experiences of my life. Cody sunk into the passenger's seat, making himself as small as possible, and stayed that way the entire ride. Mrs. Pearson, who was more different from Cody than I thought possible, managed to fill the entire twenty minutes with a high-energy ramble that went from Cody's first swimming lessons to some "bozo" in the grocery store parking lot who almost rear-ended her to the ceramics classes she'd been taking recently. The woman hardly ever paused to breathe. By the time we arrived in downtown Jefferson, my head was spinning.

"Now, don't forget, we'll meet over there at the marionette-making tent at two, okay?" Mrs. Pearson said as slowly as possible, her hands poised maternally on her hips as she spoke with the severity one uses when telling a five-year-old not to eat the oleander. If I had ever thought my parents treated me like a baby, it was nothing compared to what Cody's life must have been like. "The green one with the white stripes, right over there. Don't talk to anyone you don't know, stay together. If you need anything, just call my cell phone." She patted her fanny pack, reassuring us that the cell phone was right there with her. "All right, kids, have fun. Be careful. I love you." She wrapped her arm around Cody's shoulder and pulled him close to her, placing a kiss on his forehead. She smiled jovially at the two of us and waved as she scurried off.

Cody turned to me with the pinkest cheeks I'd ever seen, shrugging. "She means well," he said meekly.

We began to saunter in awkward silence through the crowded streets. I was light-headed from skipping breakfast and the sun beat down mercilessly from it's high-noon peak. Rivers of sweat oozed down my skin under my thick black jacket, but I dared not take it off. I couldn't stand the thought of so many strangers seeing my body, of Cody seeing what a terrible mess I really was underneath it. I was exhausted and insecure, and Cody's not saying a single word to me for a good five minutes straight was not making me feel any better. I secretly hoped the knife juggler we passed would slip, and end this miserably awkward situation for all of us.

But slowly, things changed. Cody knew the lay-out of the festival very well, leading me through it with the skilled pace of a tour-guide. As he grew more excited with his surroundings, he grew more comfortable around me, and suddenly all of the things that he kept tucked inside began to pour out. He regarded the crowd around us with a gentle running-commentary, making up pretend histories for all of them. Where Parker might have picked apart their flaws and dismantled their entire personhood into nothingness, Cody treated them all as long-lost friends. Lesbian couples with dreadlocks, old men with their socks pulled up, little kids shoving cotton candy down their throats, college students stumbling a little too drunkenly for one in the afternoon. All of them had stories and intricacies that Cody seemed able to create on the spot.

A college ska band held the stage and filled the streets with thumping rhythm and brassy accents as we wandered from colored tent to colored tent. We watched an old man in coke-bottle glasses carve intricate ornamentations into hand-crafted violins, a woman in baggy overalls drawing corny characature drawings, a group of pseudo-rastafarian anthropology majors selling hemp jewelry. Everyone was there for their own reasons, weaving in and out of each other as they gazed at the array of crafts and snacks. We were drowning in sensory euphoria, hot tunes under the hot sun bleeding into the hot glow of a glassblower's flame, until I was dizzy with hot gooey feelings for Cody.

In the midst of this beautiful realization on this beautiful day, I slammed headfirst into a dude carrying one too many packages and fell right on my ass in front of Cody and the greater portion of the Jefferson community.

"Ohh sorry!" cried the dude, whipping his head around and nearly dropping his packages as he tried to help me up. "Miranda?"

The terrified nervousness on Ethan Craft's face was just as baffling to me as the abruptness with which he relinquished my hand and let me plop hard on my ass once more.

"Oh, damn, wow. Sorry dawg, I uh… I'm just here by myself, you know, doing my thang… shopping for crafts and… stuff. And um, there's no one here with me… Kate… I uh, I'm buying crafts for Kate. Coz girls like that stuff. And I better hurry and get these to her. So um… peace dawg."

His California gold-streaked locks flipped wildly around his head as he darted away into the moving crowd, scooping up brown shopping bags as he went.

Cody approached me as I stared blankly at Ethan's abrupt and suspicious departure, placing his hand on my shoulder. "What was that about?" he asked with a delicate chuckle.

I probably would have been more interested in Ethan's weird behavior and in answering Cody's question, if I hadn't been completely hot-dizzy from the day's walking and, most importantly, completely melting with the warm tingle of Cody's sweaty fingers so close to my skin.

"I um… don't know. Go figure. Ethan's pretty strange." Slowly I shifted my body so that I was facing him, closer to him. The sounds of mass chatter and blaring trumpets began to feel muted in my foggy mind, and Cody's flesh glistened with a particular fluorescent radiance. I wanted to lay my face on his t-shirt. I wanted closeness. I wanted him to kiss me.

"I've had a lot of fun today," he said, smiling gently and looking probingly into my eyes. I tried as hard as I could to look back at him without squinting because of the sun's harsh light. He took an excited breath. "It's so easy to talk to you, you know. It's what I've always liked about you. Around most people I just get scared and can't talk, but it's easy to be myself around you. It's… it's really great. I feel like there's so much I hold inside, but when we hang out I finally get the chance to let it out."

He couldn't have said anything more perfect. It was too good to be true. "Thanks. I feel the same way. You're really cool."

My stomach was doing somersaults. It was really happening. He beamed, and I waited patiently for his soft lips to reach for mine. An amazing moment was unfolding right before me.

And then… nothing.

"Well," he said, looking at his watch happily, as if he didn't even realize he was slamming my heart into oblivion. "We'd better get going. Mom will probably send out an Amber Alert if we're late meeting her."

I felt disappointed and disoriented for the whole ride home, barely able to engage in conversation at all. What had gone wrong? Why hadn't he kissed me? I wanted to chalk it up to shyness, but in that moment Cody had seemed more open and unafraid than I'd ever seen him. The only conclusion I could reach was that it must have been something about me. I must have done something wrong.

Cody and his mother bid me cheerful goodbyes as they dropped me off at my house. My entire neighborhood seemed to be swirling around as I stood in my front yard, watching the Pearson's van drive away. Tears crept steadily down my face. I was tired, hungry, hot, and confused. In a matter of twenty minutes the happiest feelings I'd had in awhile had flipped one-hundred and eighty degrees and I could barely stand the pain in my gut. That's the last thing I remember feeling just before things went black and I fainted into the grass.


	9. Walk Away

_FYI: Long time no update, eh? In any case, it is entirely possible and quite probable that I will change the rating of this fic before I post the next chapter. The content will remain about the same, but language and other things might escalate just a hair, and I'd rather bump it to R (M) to be safe. So if you're digging the story, put it on update alert or remember to check the R-ratings story page as well (they aren't included in the default page). Thanks._

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"Um, Miranda?" a voice called into my foggy head. "Miranda, you okay?"

I roused slowly to consciousness, blades of dry grass plastered all over my face and body by sweat. The bright sun created a glittering outline around Gordo's dark curls as his face hovered over me. I sat up, mildly surprised to find myself passed out in my own yard.

"What happened to you?" he asked me, extended a hand to help me up.

My head swelled with dizzy delirium as I stood up. "Nothing, I just…" How the hell was I supposed to explain this one? "I just fell asleep I guess."

"What the hell are you doing wearing that jacket? It's like ninety degrees."

My head ached with a dull ringing noise and throbbing pain, and Gordo's astute attention to detail was not something I stand up to; I was still struggling with the realization that I had fainted. "Crap, I dunno, Gordo," I muttered impatiently. "It's just the first thing I grabbed when I got dressed this morning. I woke up really early."

His face was contorted in uncertainty, no doubt filled with dozens more questions, but sensing my girlish temper on the rise, he silenced his curiosity. "I just came by to see if you wanted to grab a smoothie. My treat."

My heart brightened somewhat as I soaked in his request, forgetting temporarily about my headache and the disappoints I'd faced with Cody. It was Gordo, my old pal, who was standing in front of me. Gordo the way he used to be, annoying and asking too many questions and free of the swarming mass of popular kids. He was even Lizzie-less, and that had been a rarity for some time now. The older we got, it seemed, the stranger it felt for Gordo and I to be alone together without Lizzie. The more it became obvious that Gordo's feelings for Lizzie weren't strictly platonic, the more awkward her absence became. It just felt like we were crossing unspoken lines.

With Lizzie virtually non-existent in my life these days, Gordo had naturally disappeared along with her. It was amazing how good it felt to have him in my yard again. I hadn't even realized how much I'd been missing him; I just kind of lumped that emptiness along with all the other suckdom I was usually drowning in. And to have him all to myself for once… that was an added treat.

"Yeah," I said, smiling and taking off the suffocating black hoodie I'd foolishly worn all day. "I haven't had a smoothie in ages."

When Gordo and I arrived at the Digital Bean, our social haven all throughout middle school, it became clear just how long it had been since either of us had had a smoothie. Typically, the DB was the hot spot, filled with our classmates crowding around computers and at goofy plastic tables. Today I didn't recognize a single person. The place was crawling with… well, middle-schoolers.

"Guess we missed the memo," I chuckled as Gordo and I brought our giant strawberry smoothies to a booth in the corner. "Digital Bean went out of style a long time ago."

Gordo smiled weakly. "Yeah, I think most of the high schoolers hang around Mo's Pizza," he mumbled, though as soon as he started talking, he realized how obvious he was making all the time he hadn't been spending with me.

"Oh," I said, sinking slightly. I began to wonder if Gordo had brought me here specifically because he knew I was out of the loop. I stared stupidly into the pink smoothie in front of me. I shrugged. "Never heard of it."

Gordo was quick to switch gears. "Man, were we ever that small?" he said, gazing at the younger kids all around us.

I raised an eyebrow. "Gordo, you're _still_ that small."

He blushed and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, anyway… so. How've you been?" He took a loud slurp of his smoothie.

Man. Awkward. This was mad awkward. In theory, nothing seemed more comforting than a smoothie at the Digital Bean with Gordo. In reality, this was like walking on coals; like squeezing into a t-shirt that didn't fit anymore. It was depressing to realize that getting back in touch with my friends would take more than just putting us in the same place. There were worlds between us. How could Gordo not know how I've been? Isn't it obvious? Isn't the screaming aching angry nervous lonely awful festering inside me clear to anyone who would bother to look?

"I've been alright."

"Cool."

Apparently not.

"Look, Miranda, I'm not good at beating around the bush… you know how I feel about social facades… and I also have virtually no understanding of what goes on between girls…"

Gordo was rambling, which meant he was nervous. My suspicions that he had wanted to talk to me in a place where no one would recognize us seemed confirmed.

"What's up, Gordo?"

"Lizzie told me to talk to you… she wants to know if you're mad at her. She says you've been avoiding her."

My jaw dropped as far down as my heart sank. Was he kidding? Were there not merely worlds between us, but ALTERNATE FRIGGIN UNIVERSES? There was, first of all, the huge wave of shock I felt at the absurdity that _Lizzie_ could say _I _was avoiding _her._

Secondly, there was the disgust I felt at realizing that this whole thing was about Lizzie all along. Gordo hadn't wanted to see me, hadn't been missing me, hadn't needed some quality time alone with me. It got under my skin in a way I hadn't anticipated; I couldn't believe how angry I was getting. It was all for her. He had bought me this smoothie merely to do Lizzie's bidding. I became glad that I hadn't yet taken a sip; this smoothie was blood money. I had to stop myself from dramatically shoving the glass away from myself.

"Are you kidding me?" I managed to choke out. No, seriously… was he kidding?

"She's just worried about you, that's all," he added quickly, throwing his arms upward just a little to shield himself from my invisible rage. I vaguely had the clarity of mind to realize, wow, poor Gordo. Duped into being the one to break the unacknowledged silence between two girls. It was a dangerous position for a boy, particularly one of Gordo's social ineptitude. He continued, "we're both worried about you. You've seemed really depressed ever since you got back from Mexico. We never see you any more. You spend all your time with that Cody kid and… _Parker McKenzie_." He said Parker's name as though it struggled to escape his lips. As if it were just that bizarre. Now he knew exactly how I felt about everything that had been going on these past few months.

I flung my hands as I spoke, mimicking the rhythm of his speech angrily. "You spend all your time with _Ethan Craft._ And Lizzie spends all her time with _Kate Sanders_. And all four of you spend all your time doing stuff together that's _completely lame._ And you and Lizzie…" I held my breath for a moment. I wasn't quite sure if I wanted to pull the 'you and Lizzie' card. I had to remember to stay calm. This was Gordo, after all. He was my friend. And yet the word felt distant to me, surreal and far away.

"Is that what you're mad about?" he asked, obviously confused and a little afraid of how quickly I was blowing up.

"I'M NOT MAD!" I insisted, slamming my fist on the table. I realized I kind of wanted to cry all of the sudden. As unconvincing as it sounded, I really wasn't mad. I was just lonely. And hurt. I could feel Gordo and Lizzie both slipping so far away from me, and now I was finding out that it all looked like my fault. How had any of this started? I took a deep breath and started again. "I'm not mad. I haven't been spending time with Lizzie because… it seems like Lizzie never wants to spend time with me. I've been spending time with Parker because she _likes_ hanging out with me, and I actually like hanging out with her."

As I said it I began to realize that as often as I felt the pang in my stomach wishing Lizzie would call, I myself never picked up the phone, either. Because I knew she would be with Kate, or Nameless Girl, or doing something else related to a world of cheerleading and popularity and cool boys that I had concept of. I missed Lizzie, and at the same time, I never really wanted to be around her. I felt trapped. I didn't understand.

None of this was registering with Gordo at all, but he tried to smile sympathetically. "I mean, that's cool, I guess. Lizzie's just freaking out… you know how she gets. She thinks you hate her. She just wants to make things right again."

Typical Lizzie, only trying to make things right. Of course that was the only side of it that Gordo would see. But from my end it wasn't that easy. I didn't know whose fault it was anymore, I only knew that things were falling apart. In that moment, I could have either burst into tears and fallen apart with it, or at least try to stand up for myself.

"Of course you'd take her side," I muttered icily.

Gordo's eyes widened in a panic. "I'm not taking anybody's side." He dug his fingers through his enormous hair and scratched his head, looking at me desperately. "I… I didn't even know there were sides! Lizzie just--"

"If Lizzie's so concerned with making things right, then why isn't _she_ here?" I cut him off angrily. I slid out of my chair and stood up. "And since when are you Lizzie's little bitch, anyway? I'm sick of you pretending like it's not there. You can't be the middle-man anymore, Gordo. You're biased. You and everyone else in the world these days worships the ground Lizzie walks on, so how do I even stand a chance? She's obviously better off without me."

I wanted him to say something, anything, but Gordo was clearly too flabbergasted by my coldness to speak. Several curious middle-schoolers had started to look our way, too. Rather than lose my momentum, I turned to storm out dramatically, as felt appropriate. In doing so, I slammed into a girl carrying dozens of packages and tumbled to the ground in a moment of astounding déjà vu.

"Ouch," I said, rubbing my twice-injured bum. "Sorry about that… I'm not really on a roll today…"

"Yeah, well, you're on _something,_" the girl muttered, picking up her bags and rolling her eyes.

As she spoke I realized it was Melina, completely dolled up and a little sunburned. The packages she carried looked kind of familiar, as did the blown-glass charm around her neck, but I didn't have the time or energy to consider it. I continued out the door, and it only took about twelve seconds for me to start sobbing.

There's something to be said of how surreal it feels to cry in public. You know, just casually strolling down the street, a girl on her way home, only having a tearfest breakdown along the way.


	10. Cruz

_FYI: Once I started writing this and the next chapter, I realized an M rating wasn't really necessary. Sorry for the fakeout. Be aware that it may change at any point, though I think I can stay T-appropriate. That being said, there are some drug and alcohol use/references in the chapters to come; refer to the warnings at the beginning of the story._

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Miranda! Miranda Sanchez! Don't pretend like you don't hear me! You're going to be late for school!"

_Fuck. School. _I thought, laying in bed with my paisley comforter over my head. My body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds when I woke up that Monday morning. I couldn't fathom moving it. It's hard to describe that kind of heaviness; it was more than just tired. It was like… tired of life. The energy for something so monumental as getting out of bed seemed lightyears beyond me.

Now she was pounding on the door. "Ay dios mio! Did you hear that? That's your bus, Miranda, you've missed the bus. Have you even gotten out of bed yet?"

I rolled to my other side and took in a deep breath. At least I had missed the bus. The thought of having to face them, being crammed into that loud, tiny space and confront the mad awkward of my crumbling friendships, made my stomach feel like pudding. Just thinking about seeing Gordo's face made me feel dizzy, made my breaths get short and shallow. Horrifying.

I reluctantly crawled out from beneath my covers and began digging through my drawers. I didn't even bother to look in a mirror; if I looked anything like I felt, there was no reason to witness that kind of tragic mess.

Look at all these freaking clothes, I thought. Who cares? Who really cares? Black t-shirt, yesterday's jeans. As much eye make-up as it takes to cover the tired.

The ride to school in my mom's car proved to be almost as nerve-racking and unsettling as the school bus might have been. She glanced at me and frowned at every stoplight, her lips pursed to pour out her disapproval. She generally clicked her tongue and sighed rather than speak, and the silence was poisonous. I sank as low as I could in the passenger's seat, crushed under the weight of her eyes. Watching me. Watching me. What was she looking for? It made me nervous and paranoid in a way that was too much to stomach.

I bolted out of the car when she dropped me off, saying nothing. The first bell had already rung, which was something of a relief. I could slink to class without having to talk to or even look at anyone. I went straight to Mr. Casey's classroom to ensure that I snagged my favorite seat in the far corner of the back row.

Tuning out Physical Science lectures had become such a habit to me that I occasionally forgot I was even taking this class. When I took the pop quiz that was handed back to me, I realized with mild surprise that it wasn't only that I didn't know the answers, but even the _questions_ were foreign to me. What the hell was an ion? I had no memory of ever hearing the word.

Class dragged on with its usual sluggishness, and I found myself staring desperately at the chipping paint on the classroom walls. This science mumbo jumbo was hard enough to follow as it was, and the further I slipped behind, the more of a burden it was to try and zone back in. I had a momentary flashback of Mr. Pettus's seventh grade science class, and how I hadn't even noticed how boring science was back then. I spent most of the class just goofing off with Lizzie and Gordo. The memory made my heart feel heavy. My stomach churned.

I felt it again, the heaviness. It didn't seem worth it anymore to lament over my fading memories of Lizzie and Gordo. I kind of just wanted to not exist. I folded my arms into a warm cradle on the desk in front of me and buried my face in it. It took no time at all to slip into the comforting haven of sleep, the world around me blackening.

I was startled awake again at the end of the period and Mr. Casey's gangly face hovered menacingly close to me. The shock of waking up so abruptly left my heart pounding. I had no idea what was happening, I only heard the chorus of laughter from my classmates, drowned out moments later by the ringing of the bell. Everyone else emptied out of the room as I stayed dumbstruck in my seat. I could only imagine that Mr. Casey had made some kind of crack about me falling asleep.

"I'm going to need your parents to sign this, Miss Sanchez," Mr. Casey told me in a bored tone, shoving my most recent science exam into my hands. It was completely massacred, covered in red ink wounds. "Midterm grades are coming out next week. You're failing." He left me abruptly, before I had really registered a single thing, and I was left clutching my failed science test in a sleepy haze.

That's when it first happened, my first episode. I squinted to look at the huge 29 emblazoned underneath my name on the test, but it was blurry. I looked around; everything was blurry. The walls were spinning. My heart was still racing. The classroom was empty except for me and Mr. Casey, but I could still hear the laughter of my classmates, like it was playing through a loudspeaker. Underwater. Something was horribly, horribly wrong. Was I hallucinating?

I felt all at once like I couldn't stand to be inside my own skin, like I was going to puke up a gallon of lard, like the ground was crumbling beneath my feet. I found that I couldn't move out of my seat. I started breathing deep and heavy, closing my eyes tight and yelling at myself inside my head.

_Get up, Miranda. Just stand up. Get out of your seat. People are starting to show up for second period. They're all staring at you. You're being a total dirk. Just get out of your seat._

The weight was unreal. I wanted to scream. What was happening to me? Why did everyone have to laugh at me? Why did Mr. Casey have to be so effing mean? Why did I feel like the walls were melting? Why was I too terrified to even move?

In one concentrated jolt of strength, I yanked myself out of my seat and ran out of the room as fast as I could. The fear pounding in my chest only grew tenfold as I darted into the hallways. Everyone was watching me. Hundreds of high school eyes, endless echoes of judgment, crushing me. The voices were so loud. I could barely see where I was going, the halls were spinning so fast. I kept running until I reached the girls bathroom, the only safe place one could count on in the high school world.

I dove into the first stall that I saw, trying to block out the shocked girls at the sinks who turned to stare at me as I came barreling through the bathroom. _Stop watching me, stop watching me,_ I pleaded inwardly. I felt like everyone in the entire school knew that I was freaking out, and my stomach was doing somersaults under the pressure.

I sat on the toilet and buried my hands in my face, which I noticed was covered in sweat. What was wrong with me? I could practically hear my heart racing, my pulse pounding in my skull. Was I having a nervous breakdown? Heart attack? Spinal meningitis? My mind grasped desperately for answers. My body was in emergency mode; I wanted to throw up almost as much as I wanted to scream. Something was wrong with me, I could feel it. What if I was dying? Was I dying? I felt certain the world might disappear at any moment.

Had aliens invaded my body? Had someone slipped me drugs? Had I really slipped into an alternate universe, as I had been joking bitterly to myself for weeks? Why did everything feel so… weird? So terrifying?

Somewhere deep down, underneath the hot dizzy screaming paranoia, I knew that all of these thoughts were completely irrational. I knew I wasn't dying. I knew there was no logical reason for anything to be wrong with my body. And yet I couldn't make the feeling of panic go away. I was trapped.

The door swung open, and I was so on edge that I screamed in terror and lost my balance, sliding half-way off the unsteady toilet seat and using the wall to catch myself. I looked up to see Parker, astounded and staring.

"Whoa, are you okay?" she said, just as the tardy bell was ringing. I knew I was supposed to be in class, but I was paralyzed. My next class seemed miles away, through an ocean of fear I couldn't face.

I didn't know what to tell Parker. "I'm wiggin' out," I whispered, sitting up and wrapping my arms around myself. My voice sounded surreal and far away from my body.

Parker snorted callously, but placed her hand gently on my shoulder all the same. "No kidding. I saw you running through the hall all dramatic-after-school-special-style."

I felt tears well up in my eyes. "I don't know what's wrong I just… I feel like I'm going crazy. It came out of nowhere. Everyone keeps staring at me…" I was choking on words, so swollen with fear that I could barely even find my voice. I grabbed Parker's hand from my shoulder and placed it on my chest. "Feel my heart. Why is it going nuts like that?"

Parker touched my sweating face. "You're just spooked, lady. You're probably having a panic attack. It's okay. It'll pass."

I braided my fingers together to keep them from shaking. I couldn't shrug off the sensation that every part of me was about to explode. "It doesn't feel like it."

She smiled sympathetically, and the rarity of such a thing was enough to comfort me. She looked around the walls of the bathroom and wrinkled her nose. "Well, staying cooped up in this shithole certainly won't help." She whipped her cell phone out of her bookbag, tackling the situation as if it were no more complicated than a paper cut. "I think I can find us a ride. You need a mental health day." Her calmness was comforting. It reminded me that this wasn't, in fact, the end of existence as I knew it… even though it felt like it.

It was just after nine in the morning, and I was amazed that it took no more than thirty seconds for Parker to find someone to pick us up from school. I was mildly horrified by the idea of just waltzing off campus, and as we casually slipped out through the back entrance of the Science Wing, my heart was racing the entire time. But the only alternatives were hiding in the bathroom all day, which wasn't so glamorous, or going back to class, which was completely out of the question. Once we were out of the building, the crisp breeze of early October met my face, and I already started feeling better.

It only took a few minutes for our ride to show up, a clunky mesh of gray and periwinkle metal that was pulsing with classic rock music. Parker got into the front seat and I crawled into the back of the unknown vehicle, shoving articles of clothing and piles of Red Bull cans out of the way to make room. I wondered what kind of person Parker knew that would answer a favor like this. The rumors I'd often heard bouncing off the metal interior of the school bus painted a portrait of Parker as a shameless seductress, crawling into the laps of older men to get what she wanted. I had never heard Parker mention any older boyfriends, but I still expected, as a matter of course, to see a grizzly forty-something-year-old man with chest hair and a Rolex behind the wheel. Probably named Ted.

The face that actually greeted me from the driver's seat was quite the opposite. Her bleach-blonde hair was woven into braided pigtails and her face was friendly, though bedecked with piercings. She couldn't have been older than seventeen. "Dipping out before second period?" she asked us, raising her thick brown eyebrows and eying us jokingly. There was something familiar about her. Or at least about her eyebrows. "It's only Freshman year, Parks. If you're already this sick of school you'll never make it to senior year… you'll end up just like me."

Never make it to senior year? The words formed a momentary lump in my throat as the driver pressed her foot to the gas pedal and sped away. My parents would totally kill me. And yet, the further away we got, the more fearless I felt. Hillridge High School, which suffocated me daily with its hugeness, became merely a pile of bricks that got smaller and smaller every second that we drove.


	11. Genie In A Bottle

_FYI: The phrase "barred out" is derived from the shape of a Xanax pill, often referred to as a "bar."_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

While the rest of my unworthy classmates were holed up in the torment of second period, I was racing free through the streets of Hillridge with the coolest older girl I'd ever met.

Parker rolled down her window and lit a cigarette. The breeze blew through her milk chocolate hair and filled the car with the fresh taste of freedom. I felt my drumming heart start to settle. "Miranda, this is Carly," she said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "She's Danny Kessler's older sister."

"I prefer to leave out that little detail in my introductions," Carly said with a chuckle. She glanced back at me and smiled. "Nice to meet you, Miranda. God, you've got a great face. Have you ever thought of a nose piercing? You've got just the nose for it."

I blushed at the compliment. I had known this girl for barely thirty seconds, but she was so vibrant and infectious I was immediately taken by her. "Um, thanks," I replied, not really sure of the etiquette for accepting nose-flattery.

She was beautiful, not lacking in the infamous Kessler good looks, but there was a playful edginess to her appearance: scattered black and pink streaks in her stiff hair, ripped black cut-offs, and an array of colorful tattoo sleeves. She tapped her cigarette fingers on the steering wheel and bobbed her head to the screeching guitar riffs on the stereo, singing along with the male vocalist that wailed, _dancing days are here again…_

"I like this song," I said timidly. "Who is this?"

Carly glanced at Parker, then looked at me suspiciously, then at last erupted in a fit of pleasant giggles. Even her laughter, saccharine as it was, had a hint of rock and roll to it. "Oh wow. You're not kidding. This is Zeppelin, kitten. Oh man… I have so many CDs to burn for you…"

During the ten minute journey that progressed, I discovered that Carly Kessler was basically the big sister everyone had always wanted. She spent the entire car ride rapidly switching out CDs to play songs that we "just had to hear," reassuring us that we were both too pretty and too smart to let high school get us down, and gushing about all the bands she knew and parties she'd been to. She had dropped out of high school out in 11th grade to start apprenticing at a tattoo parlor, and currently squatted in her boyfriend's dormitory at Jefferson University. Carly Kessler would buy you liquor, pierce or tattoo anything you wanted, and give you rides to play hooky basically whenever you asked. I was in awe. How did Parker meet people like this?

By the time we were dropped off at Parker's house, Carly shouting an obscure Led Zeppelin quote out the window to bid us farewell, I felt almost completely normal again. The rush of ditching school with Parker and soaking in the excitement of Carly's personality had distracted me from the bull shit of school.

"What about your parents?" I asked Parker as she fiddled with her house key.

"What about them?" Parker snorted. She opened the door and led me inside.

I followed her up the stairs into what was clearly her parents' bedroom. Without the slightest expression of guilt or fear, Parker expertly dug through the bottom drawer of her parents' nightstand and pulled out two items: an orange tube of prescription pills and a small key. She opened the bottle and poured out a single, rectangular white pill.

"It's a Xanax," she said, holding it out for me to take. "My mom has them because she's a pillhead with an expensive psychiatrist, but what you're supposed to take them for is anxiety disorders. It'll make your panic attack go away."

Parker made the offer so casually, as if this were a headache, and she was just giving me ibuprofen. But this was serious. And terrifying. I took Parker's word for almost everything these days, but I didn't know if I was ready to take some random pill from her. My heart sped up again and I swallowed hard.

Flashes of being high with Carlos on a roof in Mexico, and the screaming relatives and butchered haircut that followed, went whizzing through my head as I looked at the pill in horror. I started to feel dizzy again, fear creeping up in my stomach. It made me nervous to have Parker holding drugs out to me, the same way it made me nervous to watch Eli and my other bandmates smoke pot in between sets. They always offered me a hit, and I was always forced to blush and turn them down. I was afraid bad things would happen again if I did something like that. I wasn't cut out for drugs. Not to mention the hell I'd have to pay if my parents caught me _again._

"Um, no thanks," I said quietly. "I'm already starting to feel better, anyway."

Parker eyed me with interest. "Are you sure? I mean, I know you've got your anti-drug policy, and more power to you and everything for that..." She shrugged. "I'm not a pusher or anything, I'm not Eli the pothead… I'm just trying to help a friend in need. It will completely calm you down. Just take a half, we'll split it." She broke the rectangle in two and put one of the halves into her mouth. She dry-swallowed without blinking.

I almost winced as the pill went down, scared that we would both instantaneously implode. She was endlessly remarkable. I envied her confidence. Parker didn't care what her parents thought, what people at school thought. If she wanted to walk off campus, she simply did it. If she wanted to steal her mother's pills, she just… did it. Once again, I found myself awed and allured by Parker's fearlessness, and eager to feel some of what she felt.

I used to be tough, or at least I used to think so… but since the start of high school, I was drowning in uncertainty. I was tired of all that fear, the same fear that had left me paralyzed in a bathroom stall just half an hour earlier. I took a deep breath, slowly took the remaining half-Xanax out of Parker's hand, and put it in my mouth. I struggled to push the rigid, chalky pill down my throat, but the burn I felt in my esophagus gave me a rush.

Parker nodded with an amused smirk. "Well done, Mimi. Now, a glass of wine, a little Metric on the stereo, and a little Jacuzzi… we'll be right as rain."

The key, it turned out, was the key to the cupboard in the dining room where Parker's parents stored their alcohol. She loaned me a bathing suit, uncorked a bottle of red wine for us, and cranked up the bubbles to the hot tub in the sun room. The wine was bitter at first to me; my only experiences with wine had been the tiny sip they give you at Mass. But after twenty minutes or so, I'd grown accustomed to its bite, and even more accustomed to the light tingle it gave my head.

"Wine-drunk is the best kind of drunk to be," Parker said as we passed the bottle back and forth and marinated in the hot bubbles.

I had never been any kind of drunk, so I had to take Parker's word for it. I was feeling pretty fantastic, so it wasn't hard to be convinced. I giggled. "You know, Parker… You are full of surprises. I mean really. You're nothing like I would have thought in middle school."

Parker delicately lifted the glass bottle to her lips, which were slightly purple from the wine. Whereas I had to take baby sips just to get it down, Parker could gulp the red wine like soda pop. "What do you mean?" she asked, gazing at me over the top of the bottle with her eyes slowly drifting to half-mast.

"I mean, this is…" I motioned to the bottle in her hand, and then to the bubbling water around us. "All this is nuts! We skipped school! We stole drugs AND alcohol from your parents!" Parker didn't seem fazed by any of this, but I couldn't help but laugh at the craziness of it all. "You're like… a total bad-ass."

Parker tried to shrug nonchalantly, though I noticed she couldn't help but look a little smug at hearing the compliment. "And that surprises you why?"

"I don't know. You always had an attitude, but I thought you were just a snob or something. You had good grades and you were into all that vegetarian stuff and you always dated cute boys… I figured you were just a goody-good that was really conceited or something."

"Gee, thanks."

"Haha. No, I don't mean it like that." It was strange, I noticed, how it was growing harder to turn my thoughts into words. The wine made my lips all heavy, and the words had to slither their way out slowly. "I just wouldn't have thought you had all this in you. I hate to admit it, but you've got way more balls than I've ever had in my life. I used to think you were a bitch like Kate, but Kate's a totally different kind of bitch. She's totally fake. She's all talk. Like, do you remember her birthday party last year, and she tried to talk all this big talk about how it was going to be like, THE most bad-ass party ever. And then when we got there, she was all crying and stuff, she couldn't even control her own party. It was pathetic." I laughed at the memory, remembering how satisfying it was to see our arch-rival, tear-stained and covered in birthday cake. But then I stopped laughing, because I remembered how Lizzie hadn't found it funny at all… and how Lizzie had been the first one to stand by Kate's side… and how now Kate's side was where she was staying.

Parker laughed and took another huge gulp of wine. "So what you're saying is… I'm a superior breed of bitch to Kate Sanders?"

I laughed, throwing my whole head back with it. My entire body felt loose and calm. My muscles were melting in the cozy cocoon of hot water. "Yeah. You're the best kind of bitch I know. I mean, holy crap… This is the craziest thing I've ever done. You're crazy, girl! Total, total bad-ass." I let my head fall on Parker's shoulder as I started cracking up. I hadn't had this much fun with anyone in months. "You've got… you've got BALLS, girl. If we were at my house right now, if we were doing this at my house, I would totally be freaking out. Totally. But I'm not even a little bit freaked out right now. It's amazing. I feel… I feel good. Like nothing could go wrong."

Parker smacked her lips from the plucky wine aftertaste and nodded. "That's the Xanax for you. Nothing can go wrong when you're all barred out, because even if it does, you'll forget all about it in fifteen minutes."

"Oh RIGHT. The pill. I keep forgetting I took it. I thought I was just getting drunk." It was so subtle, the soft tickle of goodness that the drug sent down my spine. Calm. Fearlessness.

Parker carefully eased me off of her shoulder at last, looking a little uncomfortable with the closeness. "I wouldn't really call myself a bad-ass," she said. There was a kind of sadness in her face. A numbness. "I'm not like, purposely breaking rules for the fun of breaking rules. I just do what I want. And I'm not really afraid of anything. When I think bad-ass, I think Angel Lieberman. The kind of pathetic goth reject that causes trouble for the sake of feeling rebellious… for the thrill of pushing boundaries. There is no thrill in pushing boundaries for me. I have no boundaries. Do you think my parents will ever even _notice_ this bottle of wine is missing?"

Her eyes darkened at the thought, and she took another heavy swig of wine before she continued. "People like Angel do things for attention. I could care less about attention, you know? Fuck what other people think. I don't drink to prove how 'cool' I am, I drink because it's fun. And I mean, hanging out with Carly and her friends has definitely been an influence, as far as introducing me to the idea."

Parker was right. Drinking was fun. Waves of warm happy flooded over my body again and again. We didn't need other people to think we were cool just to have fun. We had fun in a bottle. "Oh man," I said, sinking lower into the water. "Carly's so cool. How did you get to be friends with her?"

Parker sighed, as though the memory were unpleasant. "Danny Kessler and I dated for three weeks last year, at the end of the summer before eighth grade. Danny himself is pretty much worthless, and I kind of wish I didn't have to remember we ever dated, but meeting his sister was the one good thing I got out of it. I love Carly. She's pretty much my savior."

"Whoa, you went out with Danny Kessler?" I remembered drooling over Danny in seventh grade, before Ethan Craft became the next unattainable hunk to whisk away my attention span. "AND you turned down Gordo that one time to go the dance with Ethan. Man, who else did you go out with in middle school? How'd you get all the hotties?"

Parker was silent for a few moments, tracing the mouth of the wine bottle with her finger, staring angrily into the bubbles. She shook her head and took a drink. "The thing about the hotties, you know, is that they tend to be the biggest douchebags. It took me most of eighth grade to learn that, but at least I know better now." She took another giant gulp, finishing off the bottle, then started waving it in my face as she spoke. "Those guys are jerks, seriously. The only reason they ever asked me out is because Danny ran his big fat mouth and told all his friends I would put out. I only agreed to go to the dance with Ethan because I thought, you know, he seems like a sweet guy and I thought he might be different. And I guess he was. He didn't try to put any moves on me…."

"Except for those wicked moves on the dancefloor," I interjected with a sly grin. Ethan dancing was kind of like… a rhinoceros trying to do yoga.

Parker laughed, but only a little. Not enough to wipe away the sullen look that was growing on her face. She spoke softer. "Right. Nice guy, brain of a toad. I never should have turned down Gordo. Gordo's the kind of guy girls should go for."

I surprised myself with how hard I started laughing. It wasn't that I didn't love Gordo, I just… never would have imagined anyone uttering that sentence, ever. "Are you serious? But Gordo's… Gordo." I couldn't believe Parker had a crush on Gordo. Parker who dated boys like Ethan and Danny. Parker who had high school-dropout friends and a purple moon tattoo. Parker who knew about pills and wine. Parker who knew about everything, who was the best new-best-friend a girl could ask for…

In mere moments I had forgotten what we were even talking about. I rested my head on the side of the hot tub, listening serenely to the rumbling of the motor.

"Whoa there kid, I think it's time to get out," Parker said, grabbing both of my shoulders as I started to fall asleep and slip underwater. "I don't need a Lifetime movie-of-the-week on my hands."

My whole body was limp, and my mind was dancing playfully back and forth between consciousness and unconsciousness. Parker seemed less than amused as she had to pull me out of the hot tub like a lifeless corpse, but I couldn't help but giggle. Wine-drunk was the best kind of drunk to be. Nothing could go wrong when you were barred out.

In Parker's den, she had to help me out of my bathing suit and negotiate with me for awhile to get me to put on clothes. She rolled her eyes a lot, but was pretty patient all the same. I think she thought it was funny. It was probably really funny, looking back at it objectively. Normally I would have been embarrassed for acting so stupid, or self-conscious to have another girl see my body, but the Xanax wiped away all fear.

When I was dressed, I grabbed the fuzzy blanket off the couch and curled up beneath it while Parker browsed her DVDs. "We should order a pizza," she said, mostly to herself. I was nearly too gone to string together words.

"Oh my god, PIZZA," I slurred. "Pizza would be so good. I haven't eaten anything since like…" I paused, realizing I couldn't remember the last time I'd allowed myself the comfort of food. "What's today?"

Parker clicked her tongue in snobbish disapproval as she selected a movie and at last came to join me on the couch. "You know, eating's kind of one of those daily exercises, Miranda. Like sleeping? Breathing? Stuff like that."

I shrugged. Normally I was intimidated when people asked me about my dieting, because people usually didn't understand. For once I wasn't afraid to say the truth. "Sometimes I get stressed out, and it helps calm me down if I stop eating for a little while. It feels good." It feels like control.

Parker eyed me not with concern, but with judgment. She rolled her eyes and used the remote to push 'play' on the DVD. "No offense, but that's just a little too Claire Miller-esque for me. Is this the kind of thing you did when you were hanging out with Lizzie? 'Oh em gee, let's totally starve ourselves so we can look like Paris Hilton.'"

"Pshh, whatever. Lizzie doesn't need to diet. Stupid perfect Lizzie. She never understood… why I need to do certain things."

Parker's laughter was laced with her signature incredulousness and elitism. "Don't be retarded. Lizzie's a cow… and you need a sandwich."

I laughed softly, and snuggled under the flannel blanket on the couch. There was something comforting about Parker's brazen honesty.


	12. Understand

_FYI: This is more or less the half-way point. Also, "Blood Feast Island Man" is an Aqua Teen Hunger Force joke._

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Over the next two weeks, I was always on my guard. I dwelled constantly on the fear that a panic attack might take over again at any random second. The thought was eating me alive.

The tedium of rising and falling emotions began to torture me daily. I could spend hours some afternoons just lying under my covers, staring at the wall, sobbing. Sadness consumed me, knocked me off my feet without warning. Sporadic crying just became part of the routine.

Everything could be totally cool for awhile; it could be a normal afternoon, I could be playing music with Eli and gossiping with Parker and feel just fine. But whenever I had a moment to myself, like leaving the bathroom and catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I would fall apart. I would think about how nothing mattered, how ugly I was, how I'd never be happy again. And then I would dry my face and go back to hanging out with my friends. I wasn't sure what was happening to me. Riding the up and down grew tiring, especially when it became obvious that the "down" was always coming, sooner or later.

I started getting quiet. All my life I'd been something of a chatterbox, but the more sadness and fear weighed down on me, the less energy I had to speak. Parker became the only person I really enjoyed spending any time with, because she never noticed my silence. She had enough to say for both of us.

All pretense of a friendship with Lizzie had officially died. There was a black hole between us. I could barely look at her, and she ignored me likewise. It's strange how that kind of distance can grow without your permission.

It was a Thursday, and I was sitting in English class at the end of another long school day, tapping my foot impatiently. Fauxman leaned tiredly against her desk as she gave her lecture; at this point, her bulging stomach looked about ready to burst. As usual, I wasn't listening to a word she was saying. I was far too focused on the ticking clock. I passed the time by scribbling in my notebook, tracing the letters of Cody Pearson's name over and over again.

I couldn't wait for school to be finished. This evening, after almost two weeks of "playing it cool," Cody and I finally had another date. Just thinking about it had kept me in a good mood all day. The Homecoming dance was only a week away, and I'd thought surely he would have asked me by now. I had made more than a few excessive hints during our lunches together, but he had yet to catch on. He was shy, after all. I tried to be patient.

"And so Boo Radley is…" Fauxman paused suddenly, holding her hand to her pregnant belly. Her face went slightly pale. "Oh! Ahh! Oh my god!" The entire class was roused from their zombie mode as everyone realized that Mrs. Fauxman was hollering in discomfort. "Oh… oh my, I…" Mrs. Fauxman looked desperately at the person who was nearest to the intercom button. "Mr. Saxon, could you page the office and tell them to get my husband on the phone?!"

Eli slowly pulled his headphones off and stared at our teacher, slack-jawed. "Huh?"

"PAGE THE OFFICE, ELI!"

Parker rolled her eyes as everyone else in the room began to mutter in a panic, walking over to the intercom button and calmly informing the office that Mrs. Fauxman was going into labor. Parker left to help Mrs. Fauxman to the office, leaving the rest of the class to marinate in stunned confusion. In her frenzied exit, Fauxman had barked out instructions for us to sit quietly and read the last three chapters of To Kill a Mockingbird, but it was clear to all of us students that this meant one thing: free period.

Eli pushed his desk close to mine and pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper. I wasn't necessarily in the mood for band talk, but Eli wanted to work out the lyrics of our "first single." I listened impatiently to his hyperactive babbling, outlining Cody's name with a heart to bide my time.

"Um, hey guys," said the last voice I was expecting to hear. Lizzie had crept up to us shyly, leaning against the desk behind Eli. "Whatchu working on?"

I was dumbfounded, to the extent that I didn't know whether to be grateful or resentful that Lizzie had finally started talking to me again. We had been blatantly ignoring each other for over three weeks, and now that we weren't, I wasn't even sure how to act.

Eli was clearly just as shocked to be addressed by Lizzie as I was. "McGuire," he said, reaching into the depths of his cluttered backpack. He held out a tattered package of candy to her. "Starburst?"

I could see Lizzie's skin crawling; I remembered how it was only several weeks ago that I had been similarly creeped out by Eli. "No thanks, Eli. You guys, uh, doing anything this weekend?" She turned to me, timidly making eye contact. "Miranda? What's your Friday night looking like?"

My emotions were tugging me in different directions. I kind of felt like I wanted to hate her, ignore her completely. But instead I found myself smiling. How could I not smile at her? "Nothing special," I answered. I knew Eli was glaring at me in disbelief, but I tried to dismiss his gaze. My Friday night was actually looking the way it always looked: band practice with Eli.

"Cool. Well… Saturday morning my mom's driving me and Kate and Rhonda to that giant mall in Stouffersville to shop for Homecoming dresses. So everyone's staying the night at my house on Friday. I was wondering if you'd like to come?"

My instinct told me that no, I didn't want to come at all. Girls night and shopping with the very friends that had stolen Lizzie away from me? It sounded like a huge betrayal to my pride. On the other hand, hadn't I insisted (rather violently) to Gordo that _Lizzie_ was avoiding _me_, not the other way around? This was Lizzie's peace offering. I knew had to at least give it a shot. "Sure thing. Sounds fun. I'll be there."

Lizzie's face lit up with genuine enthusiasm, and I felt myself warming up to the idea even more. This was the most time I'd spent away from Lizzie since the two months in Mexico; maybe a good dose of girl time was exactly what we needed. "Awesome. We have to cheer at the away game, but you can meet us at my house around ten." She hesitated at first, but at last decided to reach out and give my arm a little squeeze. "We're gonna have so much fun."

Awkwardly, she slid away and returned to her seat to continue chatting with Nameless Girl. Eli stared at me, his eyes lowered.

"What?" I asked innocently.

"You sicken me," was his response. "You're not just letting me down. You're letting down _the music._"

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever." I slid my notebook in front of me, doodling around Cody's name again. Lizzie's mention of Homecoming had been a painful reminder to me of the question I'd been waiting for weeks for Cody to ask. Hopefully, tonight would be the night.

I didn't need any awkward or unpleasant parental interaction getting me all worked up before it was time for me to meet up with Cody, so after school, I went home with Parker. We sat on her back porch, smoking cigarettes and drinking Diet Pepsi while Eli threw rocks at squirrels. I stared constantly at my cell phone to check the time, butterflies churning in anticipation of my date.

"So I've got the latest Cosmopolitan," said Parker with a devilish grin, picking up the magazine from the patio table. I wrinkled my nose in confusion as I flicked the tip of my cigarette over the ash tray. Parker… reading Cosmo? It shattered all things I thought I knew.

"Ooh, this one looks like a winner," she continued. " 'Too Close for Comfort.' It's an article full of advice on how not to let your guard down once you and your man have been together for say, seven or eight months. Don't wear sweatpants to bed, it makes the bedroom a less magical place. Don't forget to wear a light foundation when you stay over at his place; don't want him to see how your face really looks. Oh, wait, in the little box in the corner it says there are _select_ _occasions_ when familiarity can be good. Golly, ya think? It's good to let guys feel like they know one or two secrets about your 'girl world.' Wow, are they kidding? Girl world?" Parker's voice elevated in volume. "They're basically saying men and women are these completely foreign creatures who could never understand each other ever and we should just do all that we can to fool each other. As opposed to, you know, equality of the sexes and honest communication between human beings. This is… ugh! God. Problematic, seriously problematic. I… can't do this."

She tossed the magazine angrily back onto the table. Eli chuckled. "It's the same thing every month," he informed me. "Parker only lasts about five minutes before she flips out on some kind of feminist rant."

Parker was still cringing from the shock of Cosmo's contents. "There's just… _no_ recognition of the irony in this thing," she fumed. "They are completely serious about this shit, and that scares me. It offends me on like, twelve different levels."

"Then why read it?" I asked.

She shrugged. "For the laughs."

Eli rolled her eyes. "Parker gets some kind of brain orgasm by shitting on the rest of society. She reads that crap to make her feel smart." He finally hit one of the squirrels, and startled himself by doing so. He came and sat down beside us. "So, Parks, while Miranda's out on her hot date, wanna watch Blood Feast Island Man?"

"I was hoping for something a little more cerebral," she replied.

"Something like Cosmo?"

"Ha. Ha. Aren't you witty."

Parker flipped Cosmo open once more, unable to resist, and read aloud the article about the eight naughtiest new sex positions, which made Eli and I both significantly uncomfortable.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Some hours later, I was in the Pearsons' den, wearing one of Parker's navy sundresses. I was having a great time with Cody, sprawled on the couch watching episodes of Degrassi with his running commentary to catch me up on all the characters. I had even let myself have a few handfuls of M&Ms.

But after almost three hours and half a bag of popcorn, Cody hadn't even _mentioned_ Homecoming, and my hopes were fading fast. I was losing patience as well as confidence.

"Oh, this one's good," Cody said excitedly as the next episode cued up. "This is where Ashley gets back at Craig by writing a song about him…"

"Sounds great, but… it's getting kind of late," I said, stretching out my legs. "Maybe I should head home." Last chance, Cody. Opportunity is flying out of your grasp! Ask me to the dance!

Only, not really. I'd been pining for this kid for weeks. I'd be sitting at home on the night of the dance in my dress, eating ice cream and still waiting for his shy-ass to ask me.

"Are you sure?" He looked disappointed, and that pleased me. "Well, okay. Thanks for coming over. I love hanging out with you. I can always be myself with you. That really means a lot, Miranda. I feel like I never have what it takes to be myself."

I smiled weakly. The things he said were sweet, but they weren't going to buy me a corsage for the dance. And they weren't nearly as sweet as a kiss would be, which I had yet to receive. "That's great. I'm glad we… get along so well."

Cody bit his lip, leaning closer to me. He sighed, and his voice was soft and trembling. "There's… there's something I've been wanting to bring up for awhile. I've been nervous. You know how I have trouble talking sometimes."

He blushed. The butterflies in my stomach fired up again. This was it. Finally!

"I really feel like being your friend has helped me be comfortable with myself. And I feel like I can trust you. I've wanted to be able to share this with someone for so long… I hate keeping it secret."

Wait… what? This did NOT sound like it had anything to do with Homecoming.

"Miranda… I'm uh, gay." He was scarlet from blushing. But he said it again, this time with more confidence. "I'm gay."

Thus, the moment when my heart shattered into a thousand ugly pieces for the first time.


	13. Loving Me 4 Me

_FYI: Fun fact for this chapter, the character Rhonda is from the episode "Educating Ethan."_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Did you remember your toothbrush?" my mom asked sweetly from the driver's seat. This was the nicest she'd been to me since my midterm grades had been sent home. Once I'd mentioned Lizzie's slumber party, she instantly brightened and was eager to give me a ride, which wasn't even necessary, seeing as Lizzie just lived a short walk away. It was like she thought hanging out with Lizzie again would suddenly turn me back into the daughter she wanted.

"Yeah, Mom," I said quietly. "I've got everything I need." I'd been to the McGuire household maybe a million or more times in my fifteen years of life, and yet I was tingling all over with nervousness.

My mom even went so far as to place a kiss on my forehead before I got out of the car, telling me to have a good time. She didn't add her usual "be safe" clause, as she did when she dropped me off for band practice. Her affection in that moment left me feeling sick to my stomach. Couldn't she just show love for me as I was? Why did being Lizzie's friend make everything okay in her eyes? Wasn't I enough all on my own?

Mrs. McGuire greeted me warmly at the front door and asked jokingly where I'd been all this time. I forced a smile and told her that high school kept me busy, which it indeed did; busy hating myself and, you know, pretty much all of existence.

"There's plenty of spaghetti and garlic bread on the stove, sweetie," Mrs. McGuire informed me as I stepped through the house. "Help yourself."

"Thanks. But I had a big dinner at home. Fridays are enchilada night."

I had actually skipped enchiladas at home, assuring my parents I was saving room for Jo's cooking. I passed the kitchen without stopping, heading straight for Lizzie's bedroom. As if I was going to let the cheerleaders see me pigging out.

"Miranda!" Lizzie said cheerfully as I entered the room. She was half-dressed, in the process of changing from her cheerleading uniform to a pair of pajamas. "You're just in time. Rhonda's reading us some stuff from the newest Cosmo."

Lizzie giggled and shared a glance with her two friends. Sitting on the bed was Rhonda, who up until that moment I had known as Nameless Girl, and who was pretty much my least favorite person at Hillridge High School. The day she called me "taco" in the hallway did not go forgotten. Kate was sprawled on her stomach on the floor, gently applying Barbie-pink nail polish to her fingers.

Kate nudged the bucket of nail polish towards me. "Help yourself, Randa," she said. I looked down at my own nails, which were chipped black, and then into the bucket, which was filled with blues, reds, and about thirty shades of pink. I decided to paint my toes, instead.

Rhonda cleared her throat and continued reading aloud from the same issue of Cosmo that Parker had made fun of the day before. The other girls "oohed" and "aahed" at every word. There was plenty of giggling, too, but I got the feeling these girls didn't get the same kind of "laughs" out of Cosmo that Parker did. It was kind of nauseating.

"Guess that means there's no chance for Gordo and me," Lizzie joked after Rhonda finished the _Too Close For Comfort_ article. I felt my heart pause for a moment. I had been Lizzie's closest friend since Kindergarten, and she'd never once confided in me with the words, "Gordo and me…" She had never even acknowledged that a "Gordo and me" existed. And now it was casual news amongst her cheerleading buddies. She continued, "He's seen me first thing in the morning without make-up like, a bazillion times."

"Yeah, so have I," Kate chimed in. "And no guy would wanna get near THAT mess."

"Uh! Shut up!" Lizzie giggled and started tossing kernels of popcorn at Kate.

"Excuse me, McGuire!" Kate squealed, unamused. "Nails much?"

Lizzie stuck out her tongue playfully in response.

"So when exactly is the Gordo thing gonna happen, Liz?" Rhonda queried, pursing her lips in anticipation. "You guys disappeared for long enough at Joey's party last weekend…"

It took the utmost focus of my senses to keep from blatantly letting my mouth hang wide open. How could this "Gordo thing" possibly be common knowledge to some bimbo I'd only just learned the name of? Lizzie had never gushed a single detail to me about Gordo. I felt like I was a spy, tuning in on privileged information. But… Lizzie was supposed to be my best friend. I should have been the first one to know.

Lizzie blushed, and glanced at me timidly. I quickly averted my eyes. We both knew this was awkward. "I just… can't go there. I've tried but… it's too weird. Gordo and I are just friends."

"With benefits!" Rhonda prodded. Lizzie blushed harder.

"Everyone needs 'benefits' now and again," Kate interjected, not looking away from her pristine nails. "Liz is just biding her time. Gordo's precious and all, but he's not _boyfriend _material. This girl has dated Frankie Muniz, for crying out loud. She's got to date in her _zone._" Kate lifted her right hand and blew on the pink wet paint carefully. She looked at Lizzie and grinned. "I know exactly what Mr. Right she's waiting around for. _Charlie Kurasaki._"

Upon the mention of his holy name, all three of them squealed so loudly it made my ears ring.

"As if," Lizzie said softly, shaking her head. She was officially the most embarrassed shade of firetruck red anyone could be. "He's super cute. There's no way he'd ever get with a Freshie like me."

Kate chuckled. "Stop being modest, McGuire. You're _it._ You've got it in the bag, skyrocket to high school superstar. Charlie's got you on his radar. I've been watching."

"What about you, Miranda?" Lizzie said suddenly. I was startled. It was the first moment I felt like I was actually even in the room. She was obviously eager to get the subject of conversation away from her love life. "I've seen you around school with Cody Pearson a lot. What's happening there?"

"Yeah, tell us all about _Cody,_" Rhonda echoed, eyeing me with obvious dislike. Her voice was laced with blatant condescension.

My heart sank at the mention of Cody's name, and I started to sweat. I remembered how I'd left Cody's house in a daze, pretending to be supportive of his revelation until the second he shut the door behind me. That's when the waterworks exploded. I sobbed the whole walk back to Parker's house, overwhelmed with rejection.

"_He doesn't like me! He never liked me! He's gay!" I had cried into her shoulder._

"_Wow… hon," she said slowly, trying to be as comforting as she could manage._

I had felt ten times as stupid as soon as I heard Parker respond. She had known. She had known all along. Was it obvious to everyone but me? And now what was I supposed to tell Lizzie and her friends? Cody's not actually my boyfriend, he actually doesn't want me at all, ever? He actually doesn't even like _girls_, and I'm actually a blind loser retard with no date for Homecoming?

"He's… he's great," I forced out. I felt my pulse escalate. The walls of Lizzie's room started to look fuzzy. Nausea swept over me. The panic was coming. "Cody's a really, really nice guy. Things are going great."

The other girls in the room were turning into blurs. They were watching me. Watching. Judging. My head spun. I couldn't sit still. It took all my strength not to scream. It was… _happening_ again.

I rushed out of Lizzie's room, mumbling some lame excuse about going to grab some spaghetti from the kitchen.I wasn't even sure if actual words had come out of my mouth. I was in complete freak-out mode. Every nerve in my body was pulled taut with ambiguous and all-consuming fear. I wanted more than anything to be able to shut down my senses.

I ran outside into the McGuires' backyard, taking shelter in Matt's treehouse. I was panting as I hugged my chin to my knees on the floor, crying softly.

"Halt! Intruder!" screamed a voice, and suddenly my forehead stung with the impact of a suction-cup dart.

I screamed much louder than I should have. I was horrified. I'd been shot. I was going to die.

No, not dying. Calm down, Miranda. It's only Matt.

His face was covered in war paint, and he shined a flashlight in my face interrogation-style. "Who sent you, rogue?" he probed. When he saw the tears on my face, he turned off the flashlight somewhat sheepishly. "Er… sorry. Didn't realize you were a refugee. Trying to escape the clutches of the cheerleading squad?"

I wiped my face with my sleeve, feeling a little embarrassed. "How did you know?"

"Tuh! What do you think _I'm_ doing in here? It's like an explosion of _girl_ in there. I'm staying where it's safe."

I laughed softly. I found I was grateful for Matt's presence. Talking to him helped me ignore the screaming in the my head. He was a good distraction. "Yeah. It's kind of a nightmare. Why didn't you just go over to a friend's tonight?"

Matt sighed. "Lanny's in Sacramento all weekend with the Speech Team for the state finals."

"Uh… really? Well I guess Lanny does have… a way with words."

Matt nodded proudly. "And, well, Melina's a two-faced whore these days. And not in the way I used to like."

"Wow. Strong words, kid."

He shrugged. "Middle school has opened my eyes to the reality of the sick, sad world out there." He dropped his head dramatically. "With any luck, though, I'll be able to leave this all behind in no time. Forget junior high… I'm destined for Hollywood." He reached over to the corner of the treehouse, where a blender was set up. He poured the milky pink contents into two plastic cups. "Super Sonic Tonic?" he offered.

I took one of the cups. "Um, thanks. Hollywood, eh?"

"Yup. I'm pretty much a comedic genius. After I did those Cardio Punch ads I got a call from an agent. Mom and I are taking a trip to L.A. over Christmas break for auditions." He grimaced bitterly. "But now my agent keeps _insisting_ that Lizzie comes, too. You know, after the whole Italy thing, she's got all this free publicity or whatever. He thinks he can make her a star."

I tried to wrap my head around the idea. Lizzie… a star? She hadn't said anything to me about this, either. She had drifted even further from me than I thought. I didn't even know her.

"Is she… going to do it?" I asked carefully.

Matt shrugged, looking peeved and disgusted by the idea. "I don't know. Probably, with my luck. That porker's going to steal my spotlight."

"Excuse me?" Lizzie interjected angrily, her face appearing in the entrance of the tree house. Seeing her set my nerves on fire again. "What did you just call me, dweeb?"

"Uh… what? I'm sorry, Matt is not in right now. This is just a security hologram." Lizzie folded her arms and glared, far from amused. He laughed nervously. "Yeah. Right. Well… I'll be seeing you ladies…"

He scurried out of the cramped tree house quickly and Lizzie crawled inside. She sat beside me, and we waited in silence for a few minutes.

"Is everything okay?" Lizzie asked me.

No, I wanted to say. Absolutely nothing is okay. I was definitely on the down again, and still sinking.

"I think I'm just going to go home," I said softly. There was no way to explain to her all the emptiness in my head. I regurgitated pieces of Parker. "This isn't really working for me. I was hoping for something a little more cerebral."

Lizzie bit her lip, looking disappointed and confused. "What? What does that even mean?"

I didn't actually know. I didn't actually care enough to fake an explanation. My heart was pounding and the panic attack was crushing me. I just wanted to be far away from here. "Look, let's just let it go, okay Lizzie? I don't fit in with you and your new friends. This sleepover sucks, and I'm having a terrible time. You're _it,_ obviously. And I'm not. So screw it." It was hard not to start crying again.

Lizzie brushed aside her bangs and sighed in stung desperation. "But… you just got here. You haven't even given Kate and Rhonda a chance. I just don't understand what's going on with you, Miranda. Is something wrong?"

Lizzie's eyes were genuinely blank. She really had no idea why I was upset. And why shouldn't she be blind to it? Since high school started, things had never been better for Lizzie. How could I make her understand that all the good things that were happening for _her_ were making the distance between _us _grow wider?

Lizzie continued. "I mean, you've been totally avoiding me and Gordo. You've been acting totally weird. You've been dressing totally weird. It's like you're turning into a totally different person. I'm worried."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah. Sure. As if you could find the time to worry about me in between cheerleading practice, making out with _Gordo_ at parties, and being the most popular Freshman at school. And you think _I'm_ turning into a completely different person? Face it, there's no room for me in the world of Lizzie McGuire."

"But that's not true! I invited you here tonight, didn't I?"

I stood up. Only screaming could stop the panic from crushing me completely. "Yeah, so I could hang out with _your_ friends who don't even like me, and talk about all the things that only matter in _your _life. Why did it take until tonight for me to hear about Gordo? And about your auditions in L.A.? About… everything. If hanging around pathetically in the shadows while I listen to you and the cheer-losers read Cosmo is the only place you have left for me, forget it. I'm not signing up to be a lackey. I have friends who actually give a shit about me."

I climbed down out of the tree and marched home as fast as I could.


	14. Slow Down Baby

_FYI: Anyone remember their first experience with hunch punch? God knows I do._

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The day of Homecoming was slightly gloomier than most. The halls were covered in tacky blue decorations. I sat against the wall in my usual spot with the Indie Kids before the school day began, watching the excited masses with disgust. Stupid school spirit.

"Today is going to be exquisitely lame," said Parker, echoing my thoughts. "We have to go to a _pep rally._"

"Whatever man," Eli responded, licking the cheese powder from a Dorito. Always a healthy breakfast, that one. "We get to miss eighth period. I'm all about pep rallies if it means I get to miss English.

Parker shrugged. "I'm actually kind of enjoying English now that Mr. Dig is subbing for Fauxman. And I'm really enjoying Lord of the Flies."

"Yeah, yeah, we know, you're a super genius and you love lame book-y shit. Thanks for the reminder, Parks."

Parker and Eli's banter continued, much like a typical morning, and I sighed heavily as I sunk into myself. I found myself people-watching, glancing over the diverse student body and their jungle of overlapping chatter. I fought hard these days against looking towards the center of the commons area, where the beautiful people were, but it's like an accident on the side of the road. You can't help yourself.

I saw Lizzie, donning her fitted cheerleading uniform and attracting the attention of many as usual. And then I saw Gordo, who definitely looked out of place but still looked like he was having a good time. And then I saw Gordo wrap his arms around Lizzie, holding her and resting his head affectionately on her shoulder. Then he placed a kiss on her cheek. And then I wished could hit "Stop" and "Rewind" because… what the hell?

Parker noticed my gaping jaw and followed my gaze. "Oh my god," she said, unable to mask her shock (not to mention jealousy). "What is Gordo _doing_? They're not like… together, are they? Offically?" She looked towards me expectantly. It was the first time Parker had looked to me for an answer about anything.

I shrugged, barely able to form words. I didn't think it was possible for me to feel any more betrayed by Lizzie and Gordo, but something about seeing them together destroyed me. I'd known for so long that there was something going on between them, but now that I could finally see it in front of my eyes, the reality hit me hard. The distance between us was even greater than I thought. They were officially a _they_, and I was just a me. Even if we had stayed close friends, I still would have been left out.

Parker cringed and reached into her purse for a stick of Burt's Bees. "The world of high school bewilders me yet again. I will never understand what anyone sees in Lizzie McGuire, especially Gordo. He seemed like such a bright kid."

I looked at my fingernails sadly and said nothing.

"Oh cheer up, little guy," Parker said to me, pretend-punching my shoulder. "What do you say we dip out before the pep rally? Visit Carly? Get some Smirnoff Ice? We'll have our own Homecoming hooplah."

I nodded with a weak smile. I certainly did not want to have to watch Lizzie, sparkling with happiness as she cheered in front of the entire student body. "Sounds good to me, chief."

Parker looked at Eli. "Eli? You in?"

Eli was focused intently on his Doritos, pretending to not be listening. "Hmm? Ah, no I… I think I'll stick around. See what the big deal is about."

Parker and I exchanged suspicious glances. "Eli, what the hell are you talking about? You've never shown any interest in any school activity, ever. Except for that time some guy dressed up like the green Power Ranger came to our class in second grade and told us not to talk to strangers."

"Hey man, that was the _real_ green Power Ranger, and I got his autograph."

Parker glared at him. "Spill it, Saxon. What are you up to?"

Eli sighed and looked down, blushing. "Okay. Well, I told Angel I'd sit with her at the pep rally."

"Angel _Lieberman_?" I asked in shock. "But you guys argue like, every single morning."

Eli grinned proudly. "I know, and it finally paid off! She's my date for the dance."

"You're actually going to that stupid dance?" Parker asked.

"Of course." Eli dumped the Dorito crumbs from the bottom of the bag into his mouth. "Aren't you guys?"

Before either of us could answer, the Hot Topic-clad Homecoming date in question appeared before us. "Hey Eli," said Angel. She handed him a colorful flyer. "Not that it matters to you, since there's no way anyone's gonna beat my band, but I thought I'd let you know that The Red Lounge is hosting a teen Battle of the Bands next week. The grand prize is five hundred smackers. This thing is the way to L-squared."

"L-squared?" Parker hissed. "You're still _saying_ that?" She rolled her eyes and started packing up her things. "I think that's about it for me, kids. I'm going to head to class early. And no, Eli… I wouldn't be caught dead at that dance." She gave Angel a condescending sneer before strutting away.

Eli shrugged and leaned in to me, showing me the flyer. "What do you think, Mimi? Do you think Glue Babies has a shot at winning?"

I wrinkled my nose. "Glue Babies? I thought we were back to Streak Free Shine?"

"Okay, whatever the hell we're called…. Do you think we could win?"

"Uh, I mean… we've never ever finished a song. And this thing is next week."

"Yeah, but we only have to play one song, right? We just have to practice every day until the contest and we'll pull it together. It's five hundred dollars, man."

I sighed and pulled my knees to my chest. "Sure, Eli. If you say so." I had serious doubts as to our band's ability to focus on music for more than ten minutes at a time, but I didn't particularly feel like arguing that point. I was far more distracted by Lizzie and Gordo, flirting shamelessly, and by the knowledge that even _Eli_ had a Homecoming date. I suddenly felt even lonelier than usual.

In the frenzied chaos of students being herded towards the football field for the pep rally, Parker and I snuck easily off campus. We spent the afternoon at the tattoo parlor where Carly worked, drinking raspberry-flavored Smirnoff Ice and listening to rock and roll. Carly's job consisted mostly of answering the phone and manning the front desk, but later in the evening we were able to witness her tattooing skills firsthand. I watched avidly for two hours while the electric needle rumbled loudly and painted a picture on the girl's skin. I was astounded and titillated by the guts it took to let someone drill ink into your skin.

"What'dya think, Mimi?" Carly asked me after her artwork had left the building. "Wanna give it a try? No charge, since I'm only an apprentice. I'm really good with skulls and butterflies."

I thought of Parker's tattoo, and how it was kind of cool. But then I thought of how I would feel a few years down the road with skulls and butterflies all over my body. I grimaced. "No thanks. I don't think I'm ready for all that."

Carly looked a little disappointed, but she quickly brightened back up. "What about a piercing? You could seriously rock a nose piercing. It would be super hot." It became clear to me that Carly was a little needle-happy; booking tattoo and piercing appointments all day must have left her eager for some a little more action-packed.

"I think I'm good… for now, anyway."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Later that evening, Carly took us to a party her friends were throwing. It was loud and enormous, and Parker and I were definitely the youngest people there. It was like Kate's eighth grade birthday party… times ten.

"Hunch punch for the Homecoming skippers," Carly cheered, handing us plastic cups filled with bright red punch.

I took a drink of mine and almost gagged. "Um, wow," I said, coughing. It was no Smirnoff Ice; it burned like fire. "It kind of tastes like nail polish remover."

Carly aughed and knocked her cup against mine. "I'll drink to that!"

And so our night was set into motion. I lingered close to Parker in the beginning, overwhelmed and intimidated by the pulsing crowd. With every gulp of hunch punch, however, I found myself moving closer to comfortable. I floated through the party with ease, enjoying everything, everyone. Caught up in a tingling euphoria. The world looked distorted and fun, and I liked it. I wanted to talk to everyone because everyone was _awesome_, and everyone wanted to talk to me because everything I had to say was _awesome._ I eventually lost track of Parker altogether. I was having so much fun, I even lost track of myself. I found myself stumbling around as my head spun and the party blurred. Things quickly turned from awesome to crappy.

"Hey," said a voice. Someone was hovering in front of my face, looking concerned but also amused. "Hey, you okay? Whatchu doing on the floor?"

What _was_ I doing on the floor? I kind of couldn't remember what was happening. I was leaning against the wall by the bathroom, struggling to keep my eyes open. "I'm just tired," I mumbled. My head was bobbing back and forth. "I just neededasit."

The bathroom door swung open and the bright wash of fluorescent light dizzied me. My stomach churned with unreal nausea, and I remembered I had come here for a reason. I shoved past the girl who was exited the bathroom and ran inside. I slammed the door behind me and dove straight for the toilet. I felt like I would never stop puking. My esophagus ached. I looked in the toilet. My barf was red. My head was throbbing. The cold toilet seat felt good against my hot face, and I eventually drifted from consciousness. I was wakened by someone pounding on the door.

I staggered out of the bathroom, disoriented and embarrassed to have two or three people standing in the doorway, watching me.

"You okay?" one of them asked.

"Yeah," I said in a daze, trying to gain my bearings. Drinking was _so_ not fun. "Yeah, I'm totally cool."

I was not totally cool. I walked away and started looking for Parker, who I finally found sitting on the couch with two older boys.

"Parker, where have you been?" I asked, collapsing beside her on the couch. There was nothing left to puke up, but my stomach still felt like a rumbling volcano.

"Toby took me on a beer run," she said jovially, holding out her oversized bottle of Miller High Life. "It's called a forty. You want some?"

Just smelling the beer made my head spin. I was completely baffled that Parker had any energy left. I was completely spent. "Are you kidding? How are you still drinking?

She shrugged and laughed proudly. "Liquor before beer, never fear! Hey, you've got a pink splotch on this side of your face."

I sighed and rubbed my temples. "I fell asleep on the toilet seat."

"Haha. Rock and roll, man."

I had never been more over rock and roll in my life. I felt sick and miserable all over. "Parker, I kind of want to go home now."

"I'm not sure you're okay to drive, kid." She laughed hysterically at her own joke. She was frustratingly drunk, and the conversation that followed was extremely difficult. She at last instructed me to find Carly to give us a ride home, but after much searching, Carly was nowhere to be found. Parker hardly seemed fazed. She heartily chugged her forty and joked with Toby and the other boy. She seemed to be having a great time, but I was starting to get worried. How were we going to get home?

"Call Eli's mom," was Parker's eventual solution. She carelessly tossed her cell phone to me. "It's under Cocoa."

I bit my lip. "Are you sure that's okay? It's like two in the morning."

Parker nodded, still looking sloppy-drunk. "Yeah, no, it's cool. Cocoa's totally cool. Not like yours or my parents."

Ms. Newbury indeed turned out to be completely nice about being called so late, and promptly arrived to pick us up. Eli was in the car with her, grinning with pleasure at our misfortune. I was more than a little embarrassed. I never thought I'd be asking my old violin teacher to rescue me when I was drunk and stranded.

"You girls can stay with us tonight," Ms. Newbury told us reassuringly.

When we got out of the car and stumbled across Eli's lawn, Parker had to lean on me just to walk. She was still clutching her forty. "Miranda, I officially crown you Homecoming Queen!" she yelled. Her knees buckled and she dragged me down with her. We crashed into the wet yard. She yanked up a fistful of grass with her free hand and flung it over my head like confetti. "Congratulations, your majesty! You're the BIG winner."

I smiled weakly, but this wasn't any fun for me anymore. I was exhausted and sick. I just wanted to go to bed.

"Parker Shannon McKenzie!" barked a clipped male voice from the darkness. We looked across the lawn to Parker's house next door. Her father was waiting on the porch with his arms folded. "Get your rear-end over here right now. You've got some explaining to do."

Parker released me from her grip and marched clumsily towards her father. She pointed the glass bottle at him accusingly. "I'm not going to explain anything to _you, _Dad. You're not the boss of me." She glared icily at him and took a defiant swing of beer.

She started laughing and tripped. Eli immediately ran to her side, and reluctantly, I followed. I didn't like the sound of Parker's dad's voice. I was mortified.

Cocoa quickly skated into the McKenzie's yard to try and be the peacemaker. "Peter," she said calmly. "I don't think Parker's in a good place to talk right now. You'll both only get upset with one another. Why don't you let me take care of her for the night?"

"Cocoa, I appreciate you bringing her home… but the rest is my responsibility."

Parker chortled from where she sat lifelessly in the yard. She spit beer all over herself. "Oh?" she said coldly. "Oh really, Peter? You gonna play Daddy now? Now that it's too _fucking_ late?" Tears welled in her eyes and cascaded silently down her face. I remembered how she'd told me she didn't drink to get anyone's attention. I realized she was lying.

Eli struggled to help Parker to her feet, but it was hopeless. She was limp, and heavy like stone. I'd never seen her look so… young. She was like a helpless six-year-old, throwing a fit on the ground. It was the first time I realized that Parker wasn't as tough as she wanted everyone to believe. I realized that underneath it all, Parker was just a confused, emotional 15-year-old girl, too.

Parker started crying audibly, and then screaming. She shoved Eli off of her and chucked the empty forty at her dad. It missed by a few inches and shattered against the wall of the McKenzie's big, beautiful house. "I… _hate _you," she spat.

Mr. McKenzie walked angrily down the steps, lifted Parker up by the hand, and forced her to walk inside the house. She screamed the entire way.

Cocoa placed her hands gently on mine and Eli's shoulders. "Come on, kids. Let's head on home. She'll be fine." She touched my hair affectionately. "Do we need to call your parents and let them know where you are?" she asked me.

I shook my head, stunned by what I'd just seen and terrified at how it might have played out if it were _my _parents. "No, it's fine," I said. "They think I'm at Parker's house tonight."

Cocoa nodded and gently guided me inside her house. As I drifted to sleep in the guest bedroom of the Newbury-Saxon residence, I couldn't help but be a little unsettled by the thought that Parker McKenzie didn't have all the answers.


	15. Fighter

_FYI: For christylee, hunch punch is basically a staple of college drinking parties. It's typically some kind of fruit punch mixed with tons of cheap vodka or worse, Everclear. Some people throw in fruit slices. It's popular for parties because it's super cheap to make, but it tastes like ass and gets you way drunker than you wanna be. Especially if it's your first experience drinking…_

_Also, for everyone, sorry for the delay and for possible future delays. I'm entrenched in summer finals as we speak._

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Strangely enough, Eli, Vince, Mosey and I became almost like a real band once we were under the crunch time of the impending Battle of the Bands. We practiced every day that week, and even spent the entire time practicing, for a change. It was comforting to spend so many hours of every day throwing myself into music. Far away from home and from school and from the overwhelming emotions that clouded my mind. No thinking, just playing. It was what I needed.

The day before Halloween, two days before the Battle of the Bands, I was hanging around Carly's tattoo parlor, drinking as usual. I had just enough of a rush from thinking about performing and just enough of a buzz from the Smirnoff Ice to be talked into getting my nose pierced.

The fleeting pain from the piercing needle was incredible. The danger of my whims delighted me. Naturally, though, my high came crashing down as soon as I came home that night.

"Have you lost your mind?" my mother shrieked as she placed dishes onto the table for dinner. "You can't just go around putting holes in your body whenever you like, mija."

Stevie sat at the kitchen table with my father, doing the color-and-shapes flashcards from her Kindergarten class. "You might even spring a leak if you're not careful," my father supplied. Stevie giggled, and my mother sighed.

"You're not really helping, dear."

My father blushed a little at being scolded, but he still didn't seem nearly as upset as she did. "Your mother's right, Miranda. You should have asked us first."

"Asked us first? You should have to wait until you're eighteen! Why do you do these things to me, mija? What are you trying to prove?"

I folded my arms angrily. With every day that passed, I was not only slipping further away from the world, but most distinctly away from my mother. Talking to her had become like shoving a cinder block through the eye of a needle. "This has nothing to do with you at all, Mom. It's about me. It's just an aesthetic," I explained defensively, dropping another one of Parker's vocabulary words that I didn't entirely understand. "It's just an accessory. You never used to care how I dressed."

My mother clicked her tongue in irritation. This was exactly what she wanted, an excuse to bring it all back to me being an altogether disappointment. "You never used to give permanent damage to your body parts. Expressing yourself is a privilege, Miranda. Maybe if your grades were a little better, you could earn a little more freedom of _expression_."

My nostrils flared as I exhaled. The stone wall between my mother and I was just not worth climbing. "Sure. Well. In that case, I'd better get a jump start on my homework." I stormed out of the kitchen, heading towards my bedroom where I did not intend to open a single book.

"Sit down and eat your dinner first!" my mother yelled after me.

I slammed my foot down hard for every defiant step I took away from her. "I'm not hungry."

At school the next morning, the commons area looked surreal, with the majority of the chattering teenagers dressed in costumes. Parker and I joined our usual morning crowd. Eli was dressed as Jimi Hendrix, Mosey wore a pair of angel wings, and Vince had a rubber knife protruding from his skull.

"What are you supposed to be, Vince?" I asked as I took my seat.

Vince rolled his eyes, as if the answer was obvious. "The same thing I am every year," he said. "I'm the _knife guy._"

"Ah… clearly."

The bandmates and I quickly got worked up talking about the Battle of the Bands, which was now only one day away. I was so caught up in the excitement I didn't even notice the boy wearing a pink sequin harlequin mask handing out flyers and loudly advertising his cause. I didn't even recognize him until he stood right over me, shoving a flyer in my face. The title "Gay-Straight Alliance" was typed in big letters across the top.

"Stop wearing masks!" he proclaimed to the group along the wall. It was Cody, who I had been avoiding ever since that night. "The time has come to come out and communicate about sexual identity issues for teens! Sign the petition for a Hillridge High School Gay-Straight Alliance."

I could literally feel all the blood draining from my face. I couldn't believe he would do this. Telling everyone his secret. Our secret. Now everyone knew. I was completely humiliated.

Parker was oblivious to my discomfort. "Sounds awesome, Cody," she said, taking his clipboard and scribbling her name on the petition. "It's about time this school had something like this."

She passed the petition to me, but I wouldn't take it. My insides were melting in horror. I met Cody's eyes, and I felt like dying. I didn't want to hurt him, but at the same time… I knew everyone would be talking about him. And by default, everyone would be talking about me. The Fat Ugly Weird Kid who fell for the Flaming Gay Freak.

"Would you like to sign my petition, Miranda?" he said softy, staring right into me. "You could help people find their voice, like you helped me."

It was too embarrassing for words. I shoved the clipboard back in his hands. "Sorry, I… I have to go to the bathroom." And with that lame excuse, I made the quickest escape I could manage.

During lunch and breaks and all of my classes, word was buzzing about Cody's GSA campaign. Apparently it was completely hilarious that "that fruity band kid" would actually try to start a "club for _gays._" English was the worst nightmare of all, because I had to face Lizzie and Rhonda, who now knew that everything I'd said about Cody at the slumber party was a lie. I felt like I could hear their cold whispers the entire period, crushing me.

If things weren't bad enough, Mr. Dig asked me to stay behind after class. I cringed, hoping it wasn't another failing grade I had to take home for my parents to sign.

"Tell me, Miss Sanchez," Mr. Dig began, placing his feet on the desk and folding his fingers in deep thought. His slacks rose up around the ankles just a little, and I could see that his socks were a horrendous shade of lime green. "Have you considered a career in landscaping?"

His eyes were probing, and just the slightest bit creepy. It was always hard to tell if Mr. Dig was kidding or not. Or if he had a point, at all. "Um, no," I said, folding my arms nervously. "Why?"

He tossed my latest paper dramatically onto the desk, covered in red ink. "Because I was thinking the best thing I could do with your essay on To Kill a Mockingbird would be turn it into mulch. For my garden."

Ouch. Mr. Dig could be brutally honest. I sat down on top of the desk closest to his, sighing. "You have a garden?" I asked, skirting around the obvious.

"Naturally. I'm a man of many hobbies. But enough about me, let's talk about you. Or the lack of you, rather. Where's Miranda?"

"Excuse me?"

I fought hard not to meet his eyes, because they were digging into me. "I've been talking with some of your other teachers, and it seems you're not very involved in any of your schoolwork. They say you have a negative attitude and that when they try to talk with you about your performance, you demonstrate severe apathy. That doesn't sound like the Miranda I know from middle school."

I was writhing where I sat. This was beyond uncomfortable. I hated talking about myself. Especially about myself at school. Especially with teachers. I dwelled on the word "apathy." Eat my apathy. Just like Parker's shirt. I finally got an idea of what the word meant… it meant not giving a shit.

I shrugged, still fighting his gaze. "High school's hard. Besides, what do you know about me from middle school?" I found myself getting angry, impatient, longing for escape. I didn't like being confronted like this. It made me feel powerless. "In fact, what do you know about me at all? If you wanna give me an F, then fine… but what right do you have to talk about me with other teachers?" The thought of all my teachers sitting around the teacher's lounge, eating donuts and laughing at how bad I suck and scheming new ways to torture me, made me shudder.

"I'm just concerned. Sadly, high school is the time where people start to fall through the cracks. There just isn't the same support system as when you're in younger grades. If you don't reach out for help, it's not going to reach out for you. I'd like to recommend that you start seeing a tutor to try and get your grades up before the semester ends. I also think you should schedule an appointment with a guidance counselor, get an opportunity to talk about some of the emotional struggles that might be affecting your schoolwork."

"Emotional struggles?" His honesty stung me. I didn't like the idea that someone could see right through me. I didn't want to talk to Mr. Dig about this right now. I didn't want to exist that very moment. It was too much. Too real. "You just have all the answers, don't you? Mystic Sage Substitute Teacher."

"I don't want you to fall through the cracks, Miranda. If you start off with a bad impression now, they're going to pigeonhole you for the next four years, and I know you're smarter than that."

I rolled my eyes. This shit was choking me. I couldn't take it any more. "Yeah well thanks. But I'm fine. So stay out of it."

I walked away before he could say anything else to me, storming down the halls, fuming.

I was beyond embarrassed. Called out. Failure. I marched through the commons area, crowded with people socializing before leaving school for the day. I just wanted to get to the bus bay and wish myself home as soon as possible. I didn't think this day could get any worse.

Then Rhonda appeared in front of me, smirking with her hands on her hips.

"Well look who it is," she cooed. "Cody Pearson's _girlfriend_." She laughed in my face. "Things are going _great_. Isn't that what you said? You're pathetic. I can't believe Lizzie ever hung out with you."

I was so livid and embarrassed I couldn't form words. I tried to keep walking past her, ignore her. But she wouldn't let up.

"So tell me, it must have been a mutually beneficial relationship, right? You two date each other for appearances, so you can both be super gay outside of school?"

I stopped walking. "Excuse me?" I said. I felt my patience breaking. I didn't want another panic attack. I would do anything to fight it.

Rhonda narrowed her frigid eyes. "Sure. Isn't Parker McKenzie like, your gay lover? She seems to be the only person willing to give you the time of day. Admit it. You're a _pathetic beaner dyke._"

With those words, I snapped, and in a total blur, I felt my fist fly hard into Rhonda's face. The crowded commons area erupted into gasps and murmurs as I began barreling into Rhonda, taking out all my anger and frustration of the day on her. My black fingernails dug into the skin of her face as she tried to fight me off; I yanked on her hair and tried to push her to the ground.

My fists kept flying, even when I saw blood on her face, and even when I heard Ms. Ungermeyer running towards us to try and break up the fight. I didn't care. I didn't give a shit. Eat. My. Apathy.


	16. Dirrty

_FYI: Don't you wish this story was over already? Yeah, I do too. We shall arrive there soon, I give you my word! _

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

I had been horizontal for a solid four hours, A Perfect Circle roaring on repeat from my stereo, watching the rain beat against the window. I had cried on and off, as my thoughts drifted in and out of the black hole of emptiness, but mostly I just stared. The stillness was like a drug. There was nothing in me that desired movement. I was as blank as the walls. Nothing mattered.

I had been equally frigid when I came home from school the day before, shutting out my screaming mother. Ms. Ungermeyer had called my parents about the fight. They were pissed, to say the least. At school, I was sentenced to a day of In-School Suspension as well as a meeting with the school guidance counselor. At home, I was grounded for two weeks.

But those things barely fazed me. Because hitting Rhonda in the face was the best feeling I'd had in weeks.

I was startled when the window I was staring at, which aside from the dripping water hadn't changed in four hours, was pounded on with a skinny white fist. I slid off the bed and cautiously approached the window. Eli Saxon was standing outside of it, smiling, waving, and soaking wet.

I opened the window slowly. "Eli, what are you doing?" I asked, astonished to see him there.

"I'm busting you out, of course," he said, shaking his wet dreadlocks. "You can't miss the Battle of the Bands."

I hesitated. "I don't know, Eli… I'm on pretty thin ice with my parents."

Eli climbed in through the window to escape the rain. "Come on, Mimi, where's your sense of rock and roll? You'd rather mope around in here than be on stage?" He glanced around my bedroom and scratched his head in confusion. "Say uh… are you painting or something? What's with the sheets?'

I blushed with sudden embarrassment. Lately I'd been spending so much time obsessing over my reflection, the body and face that I hated. Realizing that that haunting reflection stared at me from all corners of my room, in a fit of tears one day I decided to cover all my mirrors. I couldn't stand having to catch accidental glimpses of myself. My reflection made me sick. I wanted to tear off my own skin.

"It's just uh… feng shui, you know?"

"Um… right. Well, listen, I come to you with a certain sense of urgency. The dilemma with our band is just a little bit worse than you being grounded. You see, Vince and Mosey broke up. Big scene, lots of yelling, car keys were thrown… anyway, Mosey doesn't want to be anywhere near Vince, and she won't perform tonight."

I sighed. "So you're saying we're out a bassist _and_ a vocalist."

Eli put on his cheesiest pretty-please smile. "Not if you bust out of Sanchez Prison and cover both parts, we're not."

The idea of playing and singing, when I'd never once practiced the vocals before, was a little intimidating. The idea of my parents finding out I snuck out was equally intimidating. At the same time, though, I thought of the freedom I felt as I let my fist fly loose and land straight in Rhonda's face. It was fun not to give a fuck. How could I turn down the chance to perform on a stage with a band? Not to mention Eli's ridiculous smile.

I nodded, and Eli grinned. We crawled out my window and into the rain, where Carly was waiting with her car, and drove away from Sanchez Prison.

The Red Lounge was a dingy punk club not far from Carly's tattoo parlor. Cramming the fifteen high school bands and all their instruments in the backstage area was clearly a logistical nightmare, and I became somewhat overwhelmed as I attempted shoving through the clutter of sweaty teenagers, big hair, body glitter, drumsets, guitars, clipboards, frantic musicians, and yelling tech guys. I was separated from Eli when Candy and I entered the girls dressing room.

"Now, Mimi, I had a feelings you would be unprepared for the hotness component, being on the lamb and everything," Carly began, shoving me into a plastic folding chair and unzipping her backpack. "So don't you worry about a thing, you have a professional Kessler here to make you look like a rockstar. Now strip, let's ditch the baggy t-shirt."

I felt a little nervous showing Carly the bulbous folds of fat that hid underneath my clothes, that plagued and terrified my every waking thought. I didn't think there was any way to make me look like a rockstar. "I like my baggy t-shirt," I said meekly.

Carly shrugged. "Too bad, boo. This is rock and roll."

Was that everyone's excuse for everything ridiculous? I wondered to myself. Sighing, I pulled off my t-shirt and sat lifelessly as I let Carly use me as her own personal Barbie doll. When she was finished, she tried to turn me around to face the mirror to see if I approved, and I was terrified. My reflection was something I avoided at all costs.

When I was facing the mirror after a deep breath, the girl in the mirror didn't even look like Miranda. So covered by black lace and sparkly make-up, fishnets and boots, nose piercing, gold jewelry. It was a hard, scary, rock and roll girl that stood before me. I didn't recognize myself. And I kind of preferred it that way.

"Nervous?" Carly asked.

My stomach was doing somersaults. My breathing was shaky. "Uh, a little," I said.

"You should be," an icy voice chimed in from behind me. Angel Lieberman approached me, in all of her fishnet and teased-hair glory. "These other bands ain't no joke. Aside from me and my band, who will utterly blow your mind, by the way, there's Charlie Kurasaki's band… and they just happen to be performing _right_ before you and Eli. Good luck following that act, Sanchez." She laughed and walked away.

I turned to Carly, terrified. "Charlie Kurasaki's in this contest? He's got more cool points in his hair gel than I've got in my entire body."

She gave my shoulders an encouraging rub. "Keep your head up, kid, you guys are gonna kick ass." She reached into her bag and pulled out a bottle of orange juice. "Here, have some of this, it's good for the vocal chords."

I took the bottle of juice and took a healthy chug before almost gagging on the harsh sting of it.

Carly laughed. "Sorry, did I say that was orange juice? Coz I meant orange juice and vodka. It's called a screwdriver. Not as good for the vocal chords, but definitely good for a case of the nerves."

I sighed and shrugged, taking a healthy swig of the booze.

The dressing room door opened and a girl wearing a headset popped her head inside. "Members of Aggravated Assault, we need you on deck."

I paused for a moment before remembering that that was the lame name Eli had changed our band to at the last minute. Carly gave my hands a good squeeze for luck before I grabbed my bass and headed out the door.

My nerves didn't get any calmer as I waited in the dark stage wings with Eli and Vince, so I kept nursing the bottled screwdriver. On stage, Charlie Kurasaki and his band were sounding outrageously awesome. Charlie was the lead singer, and it was obvious that he was extremely popular with the girls in the front row, screaming his name. As I took a closer look at the cheering crowd, I noticed that Kate and Lizzie were among them, standing as close to Charlie as they could get.

"They're pretty good, huh?" said a boy's voice behind me. I turned and saw him, a smarmy looking blonde with a sly grin. It took a few moments for it to actually soak in. It was Ronnie Jacobs, Lizzie's first boyfriend.

"Yeah, they are," I answered. "Are you… are you in one of the bands?"

He nodded, and I could see him smiling at me even in the dim backstage lights. "Yup. We're going on after you guys… you're in Aggravated Assault, right?"

I blushed at our embarrassing band name. "Unfortunately, yes."

Ronnie nodded and pointed to the instrument in my hands. "Chick bass player, eh? Very hot."

I blushed harder. "Thanks. I'm uh… I'm actually singing tonight, too."

"Nice. You're Miranda Sanchez, right? The girl who decked Rhonda Larson in the face at school yesterday?"

I was sort of surprised at how flattering it felt to be known as the girl-who-decked-Rhonda. I laughed softly. "Um, yeah, that was me. I didn't know you went to Hillridge."

"Yup. I've heard things about you, you know. I hear you run with that McKenzie girl. She's a wild one. Now I'm a little nervous having to go up against you."

He was flirting so hard it was almost a turn-off. But it was nice to get some attention from a straight boy. Especially one holding a pair of drumsticks. I held out my juice bottle to him. "Want some uh, vodka and orange juice? I'm told it's good for nerves."

He grinned and took the drink from me. "Guess you're a wild one, too. I like it."

There was an eruption of applause from the audience as Charlie's band finished playing. The next thing I knew they were announcing our band name and shoving us onto the stage. I was flabbergasted by the bright lights and the enormous crowd. I thought for sure I was going to have a panic attack.

Vince counted off the tempo and Eli started strumming the opening chords. I took a deep breath, and in a blur, I threw myself into the song, a cover of "Dancing Days." Everything else but the song melted away. I hadn't felt this happy and this sure of myself in months. It was amazing. It was like my way of showing everyone I was tougher than they thought.

We didn't end up winning. Eli was furious, but I was more than satisfied. Standing on stage, in front of Lizzie and Kate and everyone, nailing the song just right, it gave me a rush. I felt like I had proved something.

After the performance, everyone crowded around and socialized in the lobby, congratulating the musicians and ranting about unfair judging. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Lizzie and Kate, kissing up to Charlie Kurasaki. I could feel Lizzie watching me. I pulled a cigarette out of my purse as I waded through the crowd, looking for Parker. Ronnie Jacobs appeared in front of me, grinning, lighter in hand.

"Need a light?" he offered.

Knowing Lizzie was watching, I smiled back and leaned towards the flame. "Thanks." I turned and glanced quickly at Lizzie, who was whispering things to Kate with an incredulous expression.

"So, you kinda rocked out there," said Ronnie. He reached forward and touched my hair.

"Thanks. I do what I can."

"You're a cute girl, you know. Edgy. I'd like to get to know you better. Do you think we could step outside… talk without the big crowd?"

In truth, I was not impressed by Ronnie's brazenness and was actually a little creeped out. But he _had_ called me edgy, and I liked that. I smiled and let him put his arm around me, checking over my shoulder to make sure that Lizzie saw me leave with him.


	17. Still Dirrty

_FYI: The onset of fall semester is gonna make updates slow. But on the bright side, I finally saw The Dark Knight?_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

I made out with Ronnie Jacobs in the parking lot of The Red Lounge for about twenty minutes. He was kind of bad at it, and used a lot of slobber. I let him put his hands under my shirt, but as soon as he tried to go under my bra, I freaked out and announced that my mom was coming to pick me up soon and I had to leave. Overall, it was an awkward and anti-climactic experience, but it was enough to piss Lizzie off and encourage the spread of rumors.

Between my disappearing act with Ronnie and attacking Rhonda in front of the whole school, I suddenly found that people talked about me. They knew Parker and I knew where to get alcohol. They knew we skipped class. They knew I talked back to teachers. People were intimidated by me. Scared of me. It was sort of strange. But sort of a rush, too.

I served my time in In-School Suspension the following Monday, which was mostly just boring. I sat in an enclosed desk and did homework all day. For whatever bizarre reason, Cody Pearson seemed to have gotten into trouble, too, and the most difficult part of my punishment was just pretending like I didn't see him.

For my appointment with the guidance counselor, they had my parents come in, talk to me about my attitude problem and adjusting to the high school environment, and assigned me to a tutor. I was numb through the entire meeting.

Soon enough, it was mid-November, and Thanksgiving break was just around the corner. I could hardly wait. My grounding was finally over, and I could finally have a break from the hell of school and my daily tutoring sessions. The bell ending sixth period had just rung, and Parker and I met Ronnie outside of the art classroom. Ronnie was waiting with a black plastic bag. We grinned at each other, both nervous and excited about our latest stupid idea, and snuck carefully through the crowd of students switching classes and snuck out to the baseball field.

We were skipping the last period of the day to huff spray paint, the same way my cousin Carlos had showed me. It was bizarre to me how far I'd come from that moment. How much I'd changed. That day, I was scared. I thought I'd never want to feel that way again. And here I was months later, eager to try it again and show off to my friends.

With baseball out of season, we had the field all to ourselves, high as kites as we rolled around in the soft green grass. We were so free and so far away from the world, it was hard to believe that everyone else was in class a few hundred feet away. The bleachers moved in and out, swirled around and glittered under the bright sunlight. Ronnie asked Parker to punch him in the face, which she did, laughing, and he laughed back that he couldn't feel a thing. I nestled my face into the ground and watched the blades of grass ripple in the wind. Watched the ladybugs flitter slowly from blade to blade. I felt like I was in a cartoon. I felt like I would never have come back down.

But I did. In the distance, I heard the warbled sound of the school bell signaling the end of the day.

"Shit," I said, standing up. The blood rushed away from my head at once and made me dizzy. "I've got to meet Gordo in the library."

Ronnie paused from tackling Parker to the ground and looked at me, laughing. "Ah, blow it off."

"Can't blow it off." I dusted the grass from my clothes. "If I blow it off my parents get called, and that's bull shit I don't feel like dealing with." I grinned. "Besides, tutoring might actually be fun today."

I left the baseball field and reentered the building. I was still high, and it was hard not to laugh at everything that I passed. This place wasn't so scary, after all. It was silly, almost. I felt like I could knock down the walls with one breath.

Gordo looked extremely irritated as he sat in the library, waiting for me. When they had first assigned Gordo to me as a tutor, I begged for an alternative. It was kind of a conflict of interest. But there was no one else free. And apparently, Mr. Dig had given my counselor the idea that Gordo could get through to me. Our sessions were usually cold and awkward. It was hard to ignore the elephant that always stood in the room with us.

"Sorry I'm late," I said, pulling up a chair. "I got caught up talking to Parker. So what's on the menu today, teach?"

Gordo eyed me suspiciously. "You certainly are in a good mood today. Usually I feel like I'm pulling teeth just to get you to talk to me."

I found myself staring at the fluorescent light over our heads, starting to blink out. "Huh? What? Oh. Yeah well, you know. Guess I'm just in a decent mood for once."

Gordo sighed. "Miranda, I went to wait for you outside your English class today. Mr. Dig said you didn't show up for class. Where have you been? What have you been doing?"

I rolled my eyes and leaned back in my seat, propping my legs up on the table. "Wow, now you're _stalking_ me, too? Could you be any more like my parents? Sometimes I think you must hate me as much as they do."

"What are you talking about?" He reached forward and shoved my legs off the table, startling me and forcing me to look him in the eye. "I know we've sort of… gone our separate ways this year, but that doesn't mean I don't still care about you. Even _I_ hear the rumors, Miranda, and we both know I'm at the bottom of the gossip chain."

"Yeah but you're certainly _dating_ the top of it…"

Gordo blushed, but kept talking as though I hadn't said it. "I'm worried. I'm worried as hell. Parker McKenzie's just a little nutso. I'm not…. I'm not trying to rag on her," he added quickly, seeing my temper begin to flare up defensively. "I know she's your friend and I'm not trying to say that she's all bad. I see her every week at the Young Democrats meetings, and she's really smart. She's just… also really radical, and strikes me as kind of dangerous. I'm not sure you can keep up, Miranda. I'm scared of the trouble she's going to get you into."

I laughed callously. "What's that supposed to mean? You don't think I can find my _own _trouble?"

Gordo sighed and rubbed his temples. "No, I'm sure you can. That's not the point. My point is… Parker _thinks_ on a different level than you. I don't agree with the things that she does but I know that, cognitively, she has meaningful reasons for her destructive behavior. And at the very least, she can get away with it all and still do well in school. Still _feed_ herself on a daily basis. You think I can't see it? You're falling apart. I'm worried that you're in over your head trying to follow Parker's footsteps."

In my stoned, dazed state of mind, only rage made its way to the surface. "So what you're… you're saying I'm not _smart enough_ to be like Parker? You think I'm just _stupid?_ That's always been the way you see me, isn't it? A dumb fucking follower. You're smart, Lizzie's pretty, and I was always just the idiot tagging along?"

Gordo reached out and grabbed my shoulders, trying to calm me down. "Miranda, you know that's not what I'm saying! I care about you! God, your skin… it's ice cold…"

His words barely reached me. I kept ranting, the room floating all the while. "And now that I'm doing my own thing you think I can't _keep up_? I'm still not enough? Well… well… well FUCK YOU, GORDO. You're not all that smart, either, you know. In fact, you're a shitty tutor. Coz I'm still failing."

I spit the words into his face carelessly and left the library, running away from Gordo trying to save me for the second time.


	18. Can't Hold Us Down

_FYI: I do apologize if there are typos, I only had the patience to proofread one time through._

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The days that passed grew blurrier. I drifted between sunrises and sunsets in a dizzying numbness. I ate less and less. I drank more and more. I started losing my strength. I started losing the ability to form coherent thoughts or sentences. When I was high with Parker or Ronnie or Eli, I thought that I was happy. But the rest of the time, I was empty. I felt like I was watching the world through a one-way mirror. It was like a television show, passing me by as I sank deeper inside myself.

But my hazy view of reality aside, high school often was not too far off from a TV show. This was never more apparent than the week that we returned from Thanksgiving break, and the tangled web of high school romance played out before us at dramatic, lightning speed pace.

It turned out that Melina Bianco had slowly been seducing Ethan Craft, an impressive feat, seeing as she was all the way in the middle school building. Not all that surprising, though; the guy had a thing for bossy, self-absorbed blondes. They had been secretly dating for a few months, and over the break, Kate found out and exploded. To get her revenge, she immediately asked Thomas Connor, one of Ethan's closest friends, to go steady with her.

Thomas was more than willing, but to do this, he had to break up with his current girlfriend, Brooke Baker. Brooke's best friend Beth Ludberg then decided to dump her own boyfriend, Todd Flescher, in solidarity with Brooke's newly found single life. This freed up Todd to pursue Amala de la Fountaine, an eleventh grade cheerleader, and they quickly hooked up. Charlie Kurasaki, who had been trying to turn his friendship-with-benefits with Amala into a relationship, was forced to give up that dream. That left him free to ask out his second choice, a girl he'd had his eye on since the beginning of the year… Lizzie McGuire.

True to the stupidity of high school, Lizzie said yes. And Gordo got dumped. And all of this managed to take place before it was even Friday.

Sessions with Gordo had been awkward and difficult ever since our fight, but as I walked into the library that Friday afternoon, it was obvious that our roles were reversed. For once, Gordo looked like the sullen one who wanted to be anywhere but here.

"Hey," I said, approaching him carefully. It was the first time in a long time that I felt sympathy for Gordo. I was looking at Gordo my heartbroken friend, not Gordo my backstabbing enemy.

"Hi," he answered lifelessly, open his textbooks and not meeting my eyes. "So, we finished up chapter eight yesterday, right? Let's work on math for awhile today."

I tucked a stray piece of unclean hair behind my ear and sat across from Gordo, who still wouldn't look at me. I reached into my bag and slid a container across the table towards him. "I saved my rice pudding from lunch. I know how much you like it. I thought it might… cheer you up."

He lifted his eyes and surveyed me skeptically. "I appreciate the thought… even if I kind of know you weren't going to eat it, anyway."

I sighed. This wasn't going to be easy. "I know you probably don't want to talk about the Lizzie thing with me. I'm sure you get enough share-your-feelings talk from your parents and I know I've basically been a total bitch to you for awhile… but, um, I'm sorry. About you and Lizzie. For what it's worth."

Gordo shrugged. "It's no big deal. It happens." The somber look on his face told me that this was definitely a big deal. "At least I'll never have to eat lunch with Kate Sanders again. I swear, if I ever hear another Cosmo quiz again in my life…"

I laughed softly. "I guess you gotta make sacrifices to date one of the most popular girls in school."

His eyes fell. "You have no idea." I could practically hear his heart crumbling inside his chest. And I knew exactly how that felt. "The thing is, I never really _wanted_ to date one of the most popular girls in school. All I really wanted was to date Lizzie. That's all I've ever really wanted."

I wanted to reach out and hug him, squeeze him, tousle his fro until he got angry. Anything to give him just a touch of comfort. But we weren't friends that way any more. "High school changes things," I said flatly. There was no more honest way to put it. God knows it was all over my head.

He looked at me, somber brown eyes meeting mine for the first time. They welled up with beads of wetness as Gordo fought tears. "You're right. And it's nobody's fault. I kind of knew it all along… that Lizzie didn't really want to be with me that way. I knew it as soon as I kissed her in Rome. It just wasn't there, no matter how bad I wanted it to be. I know Lizzie didn't want to hurt me. She's just… doing her own thing. And on the bright side, I'm finally free to do mine. No more pretending to give a shit what happens on the O.C. Hanging out with all those people, going to all those football games… you have no idea how hard it was to keep up with Lizzie's new life just to stay close to her."

I exhaled softly. "I think I do. It just wasn't worth it for me to even try."

Gordo nodded, and sniffled a little, swallowing his tears back for good. "Maybe that was for the best. I was stupid for trying to cling to Lizzie. I know we'll still be friends but… it can't ever be like it was in middle school. For any of us." He sighed and rubbed his temples. I could scarcely even imagine the thoughts that were turning in his tangled Gordo-head. High school sent me reeling into oblivion, but Gordo was so much smarter than me… I wondered how he was internalizing it all.

"Look, would you mind if we skip tutoring just for today?" he asked. "It'll be our little secret. I kinda just want to go home."

I nodded. "You ain't gotta tell me twice. Let's jet."

Gordo collected his books and tucked them away into his bookbag. I bit my lip, watching him as he pushed in his chair and turned to leave.

"Gordo, before you go," I said quickly. I hesitated for only a moment before throwing myself on top of him, my frail arms pulling him tightly into a hug. I found myself crying. "I just wanted to let you know I fucking miss you."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

My emotional moment with Gordo had landed me a rather awkward goodbye, but I had the entire weekend to wipe it from my memory. When I arrived at school on Monday, it was with just as much numbness and despair as usual.

I noticed instantly that there was something strange going on at school that morning. The usually carefully drawn lines of the commons area were utterly disturbed. The middle of the commons was occupied by a group of protesters holding signs and chanting, while the rest of the school watched and whispered in displaced confusion.

I edged my way through the crowd and dropped my jaw at the protest. Charlie Kurasaki was front and center, charismatic as always, standing beside Cody Pearson. "Simply for speaking his mind and following school procedure to start a Gay Straight Alliance here at Hillridge, this student was silenced by the administration and sentenced to in-school suspension for 'disruptive behavior,'" Charlie narrated passionately to the crowd. "And we won't stand for it! Tolerance, man, we've got to promote tolerance!"

My cheeks went bright red. Just thinking about my heartbreak with Cody, and now this embarrassing commotion, was not the way I wanted to start one of the last weeks of the semester. My discomfort grew as I noticed Lizzie in the crowd, brandishing a "Save Cody" sign. She came up beside Charlie and gave his hand an affectionate squeeze. On the other side of the protest I noticed Parker and Gordo holding up their "Young Democrats for a GSA."

I was beyond mortified. The crowd of students emitted a wave of murmurs and laughter. I saw Rhonda, snickering, whispering cruel things to Kate. My head started swimming. I felt the panic rushing in, slamming into my gut harder and faster than ever before. Something about seeing Cody, allied with the most popular boy in the eleventh grade, my former best friend, my new best friend, and my sometimes/sometimes not best friend. Everyone seemed to be standing on the other side of the picket line. How much bigger of a spectacle could this school possibly make of Cody Pearson? Humiliation and heartbreak, betrayal and confusion. Every time I thought I was feeling better, the next second I was feeling ten times worst. A roller coaster.

I turned away from the circle of protestors, bewildered and sick to my stomach. I headed straight for the bathroom, overwhelmed by a sudden downpour of tears. The kind of tears you choke on, the kind of sobs that strangle you. I paced back and forth in the girls bathroom, the spinning walls and haunting whispers of a panic attack smothering me in full force. I'm dying, dying, dying, I thought. Nothing will ever be right.

And then I saw it. My reflection. Layers of caked black eye make-up, streaming down my face. I stepped closer to the mirror. I saw the truth, the ugly truth, staring back at me. My eyes were glossy, surrounded by dark, sunken flesh. I was starving, and for once I saw it clearly. My clothes were hanging off my bony limbs. I was pale. My hair looked like it hadn't been brushed in weeks. I looked like a dying girl. I was a dying girl. I started screaming, and then…

_Slam._ My fist flew hard into the mirror, cracking it. Shards of glass sprinkled to the floor. My hand was sliced in all different places, dripping blood onto the beige linoleum of the girls bathroom. But I couldn't even feel it.


	19. So Emotional

_FYI: Sorry for the hold-up, but hey, this is the second-to-last chapter._

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

It was Angel Lieberman who walked in on me, curled up on the bathroom floor covered in my own blood and tears. I was so fatigued and delirious I don't remember much of what happened next. Apparently I was carried to the nurse's office, my hand was stitched and bandaged, and my father was called.

"Tiny thing like you, I'm surprised you even made a crack in that mirror," the nurse said, half-chuckling. I could barely even see the walls. I still felt panic swelling in my chest. "Good thing, I guess. If these cuts had been any worse we would have had to send you to the emergency room."

I didn't answer her. Her voice sounded distant, underwater. It was hard to focus on anything. I just wanted to disappear, shut down. I couldn't remember the last time I'd eaten. I felt truly gone.

The panic continued as I rode lifelessly in the passenger's seat of my dad's car. I could barely speak. I think I mumbled something to him like, "I fell," as if that were even a remotely reasonable explanation for how I had punched out a mirror in the girls' bathroom. The world was swirling, screaming, and this time I felt certain it wouldn't go away. I was breathing hard. I was shaking. I was dying. Was I dying? I must have been. Starving to death.

The car came to a stop, and I finally looked up at my surroundings. We weren't at home. We were in a parking lot. My father turned off the engine and looked at me. "What's the matter, mija?" he asked gently.

I was so lost in panic I could barely see him. He wasn't real. Nothing was real. I felt like I couldn't feel the world around me. Is this what dying felt like? "Nothing," I mumbled, even as tears started falling from my eyes.

"Would you like some ice cream? We could go to that old place on Twelfth Street, the place we used to go when you were little, and we could just talk for awhile."

I shook my head. My heart was nearly about to pound out of my chest. "No. I don't want any ice cream." I started sobbing. The thought of ice cream horrified me, sent chills down my fragile spine. My chest ached, I couldn't breathe. "I don't want any fucking ice cream! I can't do it any more. I can't… I don't…."

Crying, into my father's chest. He held me and cooed comforting things to me. I convulsed in his arms, choking. I could feel the blood leaving my face, my flesh turning blue. My father was screaming my name but it was lost in a distant fog. I felt nothingness, nothingness, nothingness. Swallowing me up until I finally just snapped, and my mind went blank.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

I had a lot to think about, lying in the hospital for three days. In a way it was the most depressing and terrifying thing that I had happened to me all semester. I had pushed myself so far, buried myself so deeply in anxiety, starved myself so intensely, that I had put myself in the hospital. But there was also a sense of calm that came with it. Feeding tubes and IVs replenished nutrients to my fatigued body, cured my overwhelming case of dehydration. They gave me sedatives and my panic attack subsided. The loss of control was normally something that would have devastated me, sent me reeling into a panic attack. But I had finally pushed myself to the breaking point of finally giving up. Drugged, I hardly cared about the disgusting calories they were forcing into my body, the IVs that kept me bound to hospital equipment, my parents watching me all the time as I lie there helpless.

It was staggering for me to try and piece together how I'd ended up like this. I was only fifteen years old. It didn't seem that long ago that I was buying my first training bra with Lizzie, learning how to shave my legs, still unable to let go of my attachment to the Magic Train. All of that seemed like lifetimes ago. Fifteen seemed like the epitome, like the end of everything. Nothing seemed to matter anymore.

I was scheduled to meet with a therapist the day after I was released from the hospital. Going home was an unreal experience. It was like I'd never seen my own house before, my own bedroom. My parents were in complete freak-out mode. Lots of hugging and crying and praying. It was all very Latino and dramatic. We're going to get through this, they kept saying. We're going to help you.

But I was numb. Help me? Help me what? What could be done? My parents may have loved me, but they couldn't make high school not suck. They couldn't make people stop sucking. They couldn't make me not suck. It was life that I couldn't handle. Just regular life. I wasn't built for it. And they couldn't change that.

What was there to get through? I didn't understand. I couldn't see beyond this moment, this black hole of fifteen. I couldn't imagine things ever being right again; I just couldn't picture it. Just thinking about being happy exhausted me. It wasn't possible, and I didn't want to go through the pain of trying. I only wanted out. Out out out. Out of this disgusting skin, this disgusting body. I didn't want to be myself. I didn't want to be anything.

As I sat, legs half-curled, on the corner of the pillowy gray couch in the office of my therapist, I had never felt more dead inside. I had never felt more hopeless, more removed from reality. I stared at the miscellaneous pictures of geese and firs and daisies on the walls. The muted tones of the furniture. The baskets of decorative stones and mindless knick-knacks scattered around the room. This was the place where they made things better? The whole thing felt so mediocre and futile.

I would rather just get high, I thought, or drunk. I would rather keep starving myself. At least those things made me feel good. At least those things felt tangible, not like this stale bull shit share-your-feelings venue.

"How are you, Miranda?" said the man in the red arm chair sitting across from me. His name was Clyde Meyers, and his blue button down shirt clashed with his olive green tie. He wasn't too old, maybe early forties. He had gold glasses. He seemed like a pretty normal dude. He was supposed to fix me.

"I'm fine," I answered, a little hoarsely. I was surprised at how weak my voice was. "Kind of tired."

Clyde smiled gently. "Understandable, naturally. Your body's gone through quite an ordeal. But before we talk about that, I'd like us to get to know each other a little. Get comfortable talking to each other."

Tediously, we progressed with empty small talk. It made me feel further and further away from the real. I spouted out lifeless, bullet-list answers to his questions. I sing in the chorus at school. I hate science. I'm in a band. I like Josh Hartnett movies. All I could think to myself was how none of it mattered. How _I _just didn't matter.

"And how do feel about being here?" he finally asked, at last bringing us into the nitty-gritty.

"Like the walls are going to cave in," I said softly. I was surprised that anything at all had come out of my mouth. My own feelings surprised me. I continued. "Like I would just rather curl up in a ball than be here."

"Where would you rather be?"

I felt tears welling in my eyes, the onset of sobs choking me. I tried to think of something, but there was nothing, and that realization made my heart ache. "Nowhere. I don't want to be anywhere. I can't stand any of it." I broke down, sobbing, screaming. I didn't think this would make me cry. I didn't realize how hideous the truth of my feelings was until I said them out loud.

"Take your time," said Clyde.

"I just wish I could… back in seventh grade," I managed to choke out through my tears. "I just wish that everything that's happened lately had never happened at all. I just want to be like I was two years ago. Nothing seemed so fucked up then."

"And what has happened lately? What makes things now so different from two years ago?"

And then, in an avalanche, all of it poured out of me. Through fits of crying, I rambled in circles about all of the things that I hated and missed and didn't understand. I wasn't sure if any of it made sense, but I was astounded at how I just couldn't stop ranting. I had felt so empty for so long, I couldn't believe there was so much inside me.

Mexico. Lizzie. Cheerleaders. Cody. Cigarettes. Parker. Failing school. Gordo. Lola. Eli. Hunch punch. Mr. Dig. My mother. My huff-paint haircut. My body. Food. Panic attacks. Kate. Ethan Craft. Charlie Kurasaki. Rhonda. The Gay-Straight Alliance. Fingernail polish. Rooftops. Ronnie. Nothing was too big or too small, all of it mattered, all of it was crushing me. I couldn't believe the session went by so quickly. In fifty entire minutes, I had barely scratched the surface in all the things I wanted to say.

Clyde watched me, nodding, with a gentle warmth in his face. I couldn't believe I didn't hate him. I wasn't sure I liked him, either, but I knew that he wasn't all-bad.

"I don't want to expect all the answers all at once," he told me carefully to conclude our session. "But I think everything you've told me to today gives us a good start to get you back to what you want to be. Your depression is very severe, Miranda, but I want you to know it's very treatable. I do think some kind of medication will help that, and it will decrease your panic attacks and anxiety a great deal. If you're comfortable with it, I'd like to prescribe you some anti-depressants. It will help you get back into a day-to-day groove without being weighed down so much."

I nodded in a daze, but his words were startling and scary to me. I couldn't believe this was all real. I still couldn't believe I was sitting in this office.

He continued. "But what I'm most concerned about is your eating habits. You're never going to get past your anxiety or your depression if you're not treating your body right. No one can make a diagnosis after only one session, but it's clear that you have all the symptoms of anorexia nervosa. We can get through that , too. Now, I know the idea of hospitalization is scary, but I'd like to recommend a center that you can check into. With your level of depression, I think it will be very difficult to work through anorexia simply with weekly sessions. I think it would do you good to get away from your regular routine for awhile and face this disease head-on. Your parents have agreed to guarantee you a level of privacy regarding your therapy sessions, but I'd like to mention this idea to them, and you can decide as a family if it's the right thing for you." He shuffled through the stack of papers on his clipboard and pulled out a pamphlet, which he handed to me. "I'd really like you to think it over, and we can talk about it during our next session."

Again, I nodded dumbly. I didn't know what to say. My head was reeling just to process it all. Just how far gone was I? Pills? Clinics? Disease? I clutched the pamphlet in my hand as I stumbled out of the office in confusion, back to the lobby where my parents were waiting.

I was utterly mortified.


	20. Love For All Seasons

_FYI: The end! I can't believe I finally finished it. It only took me… about four years? Thanks so much for reading! I will probably type up some closing "production notes" and post them to my website (the link to which is in my profile) if you're interested._

-o-o-o-o-o-

It was the last week of school. Going to school was really just a formality for me, at that point. I had already failed every single class except Chorus. I had been to three of my weekly sessions with Clyde so far, pouring out the endless stream of agony that had been brewing inside of me. I felt like a shell. Like I could never be the person I used to be. But Clyde said that that was normal, and the next step was to learn to accept the change. To stop dwelling on what I'd lost, and start thinking about what I could gain. Talking to him was making things a little easier, but the future still felt like a scary, hopeless thing.

"Easy, mija," my father instructed calmly from the passenger's seat of his car. "Foot on the gas gently, accelerate gradually, don't cut the turn too hard."

I took a deep breath as my hands rested nervously on the steering wheel. Making sure there was no car other car anywhere even remotely near me, I exited the abandoned parking lot and pulled out onto the road for the very first time. Maybe as some kind of consolation prize for going over the deep end, or maybe as some naïve attempt to give my life a sense of normalcy, my dad had been giving me driving lessons in the parking lot of a closed-down grocery store. Today was a big step for me, as I joined the actual streets and drove myself to Eli's house.

"Take it nice and slow. No need to rush. This is one of the trickiest time of day to drive, you know. Dusk and dawn. The twilight will play tricks on your eyes. It's hard to tell what's what when it's not quite daylight but not quite dark, either."

When we arrived, my dad gently told me how to put the car in park, even though I'd been practicing it for weeks. It was scary, but Dad was helpful. We got out of the car and I realized my heart was pounding just a little. I had driven! It was the first thing I had to be proud of in a long time. I reached out to give my dad a quick hug goodbye as he headed to reclaim his place in the driver's seat.

"Thanks, Dad," I said to him. "You've been a really great teacher. I know Mom never would have been so patient." I felt my voice get soft and sad. "She barely even talks to me anymore."

My father tousled my hair gently and looked into my eyes the way he did when I was small. "Don't be so hard on your mother, Miranda. Remember how you two used to be amigas? Never any fighting."

I exhaled and looked at the sidewalk. "That feels like a long time ago."

Dad smiled calmly. I wished I could have taken some of that calm and put it inside of me. "It wasn't as long ago as you think. She loves you very much. She's just worried about you. Between you and me, your mom worries so much because you remind her so much of herself. We've all been teenagers, mija. You're not the first. And you're not alone."

He leaned forward and placed a kiss on my head, waving goodbye as he climbed into the car. I sighed and went inside Eli's house, where he and Parker were waiting for me.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Inside the house, we quickly turned Eli's kitchen into a base of operations for our elaborate plan.

"I want to put pot in them," whined Eli, hovering over me as I poured red and green Christmas tree-shaped chocolate chips into a bowl of batter. He flailed his hands around dramatically, bouncing from foot to foot like a hyperactive child. "Can you imagine it? The whole school on drugs? Ms. Ungermeyer with the munchies? It'll be hilarious!"

"You're completely missing the point of this social experiment," Parker scolded. She was busy scooping spoonfuls of cookie dough onto a baking sheet. The entire kitchen was warm and saturated with the thick smell of holiday sugar. "The idea is to spread purely good energy, indiscriminately, for no personal gain. We're going to expel all of our negative energy from the year. Mimi's a genius."

I didn't respond. Instead, I reluctantly took a spoonful of dough and shoved it into my mouth. It was a mental ordeal just to swallow it, but I tried to let myself enjoy it. The next step was learning to be okay with it.

I wasn't so sure about calling this a social experiment, or any of the other fancy words Parker used. I had only said, idly, that we should make cookies. Not because I even wanted any. Just because, I remembered that one of my favorite parts of Christmas had always been baking cookies. I wanted to feel that way again. I thought baking Christmas cookies would bring back some of that innocence. And then I thought, we should give them away. And then I thought, we should give them away to _everyone_. And then Parker started to get interested. And before we knew it, we were baking over two hundred cookies with the plan of offering them to everyone at school the next day. For no reason.

Maybe we all needed to remember what innocence was like.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Later that night, we were watching Blood Feast Island Man as the cookies cooled. It wasn't a preferable movie choice for Parker or I, but it was all we could do to distract him from the cookies he kept trying to snag.

"So what, your parents are just going to ship you off to Rehab Summer Camp For Angsty Girls?" Parker said conversationally, as she munched pleasantly on popcorn. The whole thing was merely amusing to her. Like she had no sensitivity at all.

I fidgeted uncomfortably. "They're not shipping me off," I said, carefully. "I want to go."

"Ugh. Why? It sounds boring and trite."

There was no way in the world I could ever explain to Parker McKenzie why I decided to check into the clinic Clyde had recommended. Parker didn't believe in asking for help. Parker was an island. But I couldn't be Parker. And finally, after so many months of clinging to her glow, I didn't want to be. I didn't want to be Parker. I didn't want to be Mimi. I was Miranda, and I needed to hold onto that.

"So what am I going to do without you next semester? Scarf Starburst and watch awful movies with _this_ fuckwit?"

Eli, eyes glued to the cheesy horror flick on the television, did not even notice he was being insulted.

I simply shrugged. "I'm sure you'll be okay."

The truth was, I _needed_ to leave. My friends, my enemies, my parents: I needed to get away from them all. Maybe Parker more so than anyone. Not because I didn't like her, but because I didn't want her to be my crutch any more. I needed to go somewhere where I had nothing but myself. I needed to work through some things. I _needed_ to go to this clinic.

I was already going to lose one semester; what was one more? I would leave for January and spend three months in the clinic. I would have to repeat the ninth grade. But maybe, I had finally decided, that was for the best. Maybe I needed a second chance.

"Hey Parks, I need you to help me with something," I said suddenly.

"Yeah?" she answered.

"I think I'm in need of something cathartic."

Parker turned towards me and grinned, her eyes widening with excitement. "Ooh, yeah? What do you have in mind."

I got up from where I sat on the couch and went into the kitchen. Parker followed me curiously. Digging through a drawer of supplies, I finally found a pair of scissors. I handed them to Parker and sat in one of the kitchen chairs, ready and willing.

"I want you to cut off all my hair."

"Whoa. Are you sure?"

I nodded and grabbed hold of the sides of the chair, just in case my body tried to fight my mind's choice. "I'm positive. It's growing out all awkward and uneven, anyway. I want to work with a clean slate."

Parker came towards me and took a piece of my hair, now just a few inches above my shoulder, and opened the blades of the scissors. She paused. "Seriously though, I'm not one of those kind of girls. I have no idea what I'm doing here. Are you _sure_?"

"Just cut it off, Parker."

She shrugged. "Works for me."

Like not so many months ago, I sat still as chunks of black hair drifted from my skull and covered the ground all around me. But this time, I knew what I was getting into. I knew that I needed a catharsis. I knew I needed to start over.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Cocoa dropped all three of us off at school the next day, helping us unload our many tubs of cookies. Being the ever-supportive hippie mother, she wished us luck on our quest for fucking the system's head and creating positive energy. Donning my new pixie cut and a stack of Tupperware, I marched into the school, more confidently than I ever had before.

Nervously, I approached the first person I saw, a sophomore drama student. "Hey," I said. "Would you like a cookie?"

The girl eyed me like I was a serial rapist. "Um, how much are they?" she asked, probably assuming I was raising money for a club.

"They're free."

"…what's wrong with them?"

"Nothing. They're delicious. They're for everyone."

"…are their drugs in them or something?"

I smiled. This really _was_ a social experiment. People had no idea how to react to unprompted generosity. No one trusted anyone. No one thought good things came without a price. I reached into the Tupperware and helped myself to one of the cookies.

"No drugs, no catch," I said simply, my mouth half-full with chewy chocolate chip cookie. "Just free cookies. Merry Christmas."

After chewing on her lip for a moment, the girl finally gave in. "Okayyyy. I guess." She reached in for a cookie, then grabbed one of her friends and pulled her over to me. "Jenny, come get one of these cookies."

And so we spent the entire morning just like that. Traveling the commons area, offering cookies to everyone and anyone, smiling and watching the variety of reactions. Lots of people asked how much they were. Lots of people were thrilled. Lots of people were too freaked out to take one. Almost everyone hesitated, if only for a second. But we never stopped. There was no segment of the silently segregated commons area that we didn't hit. Drama kids, jocks, smarties, even the Senior courtyard. Even the Untouchables in the cafeteria. The Stoners, of course, were especially happy to see us. We visited the Bandies, and even they welcomed us into their clique-ish cult. I offered _two_ to Cody Pearson, and he smiled at the peace offering. It was overwhelming, the rush I got from our silly little game.

Our last stop was the very center of the commons, the people who thought they were the center of the universe. But by the time we reached them, I felt so good about myself I wasn't even remotely intimidated.

"Free cookie?" I offered.

Charlie Kurasaki grinned. "Wow. Sweet. Aren't you just too cute?" He gave my chin an affectionate squeeze. "Can I take one for my girlfriend, too?"

I grinned. "Don't worry. She'll get one."

As Parker and Eli and I wandered around the circle of populars, I finally came up to a group of freshman cheerleaders.

"Do you guys want a cookie?" I asked, unafraid of them for the first time. I had something they didn't: the power of unconditional friendliness. The cookies are for everyone.

Kate, Rhonda, Lizzie, and few other Unrecognizables stared back at me. Kate chortled. "What, are you raising money for a new wardrobe?" she hissed. "Because you _desperately_ need it."

"Nice haircut," Rhonda sniggered. She leaned over to Kate. "She looks like an uber-dyke."

Beside me, Parker interjected. "Oh clever, Larson. Taking your insults from a movie. How third-grade of you."

But I didn't care. I looked at Lizzie. "Cookie?"

Lizzie blushed. Her friends stared at her, challenging, accusing, waiting to see if she would actually take anything from my tainted Weird Kid hands. I stared right into her, and I could see her fidget and try to avoid my gaze. But after a moment, she exhaled, and reached forward into the tub of cookies.

"Thanks, Miranda," she said. Then she looked over at her friends, who were shocked and affronted. She shrugged. "What? You guys are going to turn down a _free cookie_?"

And in the end, it was that simple. We still weren't friends. Tomorrow these people would hate and/or ignore me just as much as they always had. But the Cookie Experiment let me see, if only for a fleeting moment, how senseless and unthreatening those arbitrary high school lines were. It made me see, if only for a fleeting moment, that life was bigger than what stood inside these chipped-paint walls. If nothing else, I could say I'd gotten a few laughs out of Hillridge before I took the leap into rehab.

The bell rang and our tubs were nearly empty. The momentary high was over, and it was time to head to class. As I walked down the hall towards my locker, I noticed a curly-headed boy in my periphery, falling into stride beside me.

"Got any more cookies?" asked Gordo.

I shrugged. "Sorry, kid, mine are all empty. And I'm pretty sure Eli ate all of his. But I think Parker has a few left."

Gordo nodded. "Too bad you weren't filming all that." Realizing what he was saying, he slapped himself on the forehead. "Too bad _I_ wasn't filming all that. Talk about fodder for sociological analysis! What an experiment. That was seriously awesome."

I smiled. For some reason, I wasn't surprised at all that Gordo viewed the whole thing through the same lens as Parker. "It's rare, I know, but I am inclined to have moments of awesomeness."

Gordo grinned and nodded. His face then grew serious. "You know I'm really sorry, right? For ever… leaving you out or forgetting about you or whatever. It's been a weird semester."

As I arrived at my locker, he helped me shove all the empty Tupperware inside. I took a deep breath and looked at him. Looked at him with the same calm my father always had in his eyes. "You know what? It's cool. It's in the past. It really doesn't matter."

And I felt a pinch of warmth inside me, realizing I almost believed the words as I said them. A few lockers down, I spotted Parker struggling to open her own locker while juggling all those plastic containers. "Hey Parks!" I hollered across the noisy hall. "You got any cookies left for Gordo?"

Parker scurried over with a smile on her face, clearly thrilled to be able to do any kind of favor for Gordo. I shook my head and smirked to myself as I shut my locker and started to walk to Science. In no time at all, Parker and Gordo were wrapped up in flirty smiles and deep conversation. I had a feeling Parker would indeed have someone new to occupy her while I spent the semester at the clinic.

People liked to say that the reason I changed was that she was a bad influence on me. That I fell in with the wrong crowd, that I was just an innocent victim of peer pressure. But those people were wrong. I don't exactly know myself how it all happened, but I know that it wasn't any one person's fault. I mean, that's life. Sometimes it brings people together, sometimes it tears them apart. We were all just caught up in its current.

But I guess that's high school. You've just got to keep your head above water. Swim through the twilight, head for the sun.


End file.
